V 



.iV - o * o ■ „ 



*0 0^ ' 



OCT 



v0 o 



«£ I 4 



V 



: j| 



•J 




1 a C\ 



X 



'0 



* 8 I A* xV 




3 I? 



A 



I 



■ 



SHORT COURSE 



IN 



Literature 



ENGLISH AND AMERICAN. 



FOR THE USE OF 



BY 



ESTHER J. TRIMBLE, 



LATE PROFESSOR OF LITERATURE IN THE STATE NORMAL SCHOOL, WEST 
CHESTER, PA.; AUTHOR OF "A HAND-BOOK OF LITERATURE," "A 
CHART OF GENERAL LITERATURE,'' ETC. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

Eldredge & Brother, 

No. 17 North Seventh Street. 
1884. 



TRIMBLE'S 
WORKS ON LITERATURE 



A Short Course in Literature. — pT? 
A Hand-Book of Literature. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by 

ELDREDGE & BROTHER, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



$£ > s 

7* J. FAGAN & SON, 

L m ELECTROTYPERS, PHILAD'A. to£ / 

'^JTZ — ^ 



THE present work is a response to the demand for a shorter 
course of literature than that embraced in the author's 
u Hand-Book of Literature. " In this work only the prominent 
writers of each period are given, which necessarily excludes 
many favorites in the literature of the past ; and many of the 
present day, who, in the future, may be ranked among great 
writers. For these the pupil is referred to the u Hand-Book. " 
The present work is deemed sufficient for an ordinary course 
in literature. 

The plan of the work is, in the main, the same as that 
adopted in the larger work. The same historic sketches 
are retained, with glimpses of the manners and customs of 
each successive period, letting the writers themselves, when 
practicable, present u the age and body of the time." It is 
impossible, indeed, to appreciate the literature of any period 
without some knowledge of the every-day life of the people. 
This knowledge is necessary as a basis to the study of litera- 
ture, in order that the pupil may have a clear idea of a writer's 
relation to the times in which he lives. To know something, 
also, of an author's life enhances the interest in his writings, 
and is important to a full appreciation of them. 

The study of literature is the study of the works of authors, 
and not the study of criticisms of their works. For the pupil 
to repeat the judgment of others, without any knowledge for 
himself, is worse than useless. He needs to read from the 
author, to think, judge, appreciate, and enjoy for himself. 

iii 



LV 



PREFACE. 



First the taste — the love for literature — must be acquired be- 
fore any appreciative criticism can be given. Let the pupil 
read poetry aloud, or have it read to him until the harmony of 
the numbers, or the beauty of the sentiment, fills his soul. 
This will be more cultivating to him than pages of criticisms 
which he may learn. 

A child, if he is taught to observe, soon detects the truthful- 
ness or fallacy in any work of art, and will bring his knowledge 
of nature to the judgment of any word-picture he may have 
set before him. Let him take, for instance, any of AVhittier's 
or Bryant's descriptions of natural scenery, or one of Trow- 
bridge's delineations of boy-life, and compare them with the 
actual thing. If he is not skilled to appreciate all the beauty, 
he will be very sure to detect any fallacy in description of 
familiar objects. It is truth that he wishes to find. 

No child is too young to begin the study of literature. It 
begins, indeed, with his nursery rhymes, with the first poem 
or verse of Scripture he commits to memory. That his taste 
should be guided and cultivated, and his craving judiciously 
satisfied, is of the utmost importance. Many an idle, listless 
pupil will be quickened into a lively interest in study, by call- 
ing his attention to the best in literature. I have known a 
beautiful or poetic sentiment touch the ke}-note in the better 
nature of a so-called " bad boy " as nothing else would. 

In compliance with numerous requests for " suggestions " in 
regard to methods of conducting recitations, I submit the fol- 
lowing — with reluctance, for I cannot but think that each 
teacher must prefer his own ways of teaching, and with pleas- 
ure, for it recalls the faces of my pupils, and the class-rooms 
in which these methods had their origin. 

1. In order to exercise or cultivate the taste of beginners, 
it is well to read aloud some rare, short poem, and at its close, 
or during the reading, if the pupils cannot retain the line in 
memory until the reading is ended, let them name the line that 
especially pleases them. I used frequently to take Tennyson's 
little poem, The PoeVs Song, trying not to show my own im- 
pressions as I read. But I never could get beyond the line, 

"And waves of shadow went over the wheat/ 1 



PREFACE. 



V 



without a thrill of pleasure communicating itself to the whole 
class. Then, as I would proceed, hands would be raised at 
each effective line, descriptive of the power of the song on the 
"wild swan," "the lark," "the swallow," "the snake." 
And then, perhaps, would come my disappointment if they 
failed to notice the strongest lines of all, 

"The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, 
And stared, with his foot on the prey" 

The few words present, at once, a striking image. The 
hawk, arrested in his savage meal, not with appetite satiated, 
but whetted with the first taste of blood, is lured to listen, 
and with head erect, stands "with the down on his beak," 
and stares, " with his foot on the prey." 

Nor will the idea in the last lines escape the attention of 
the more thoughtful pupils, who see in the poet the hopeful 
prophet of the future. 

The Poet's Song. 

The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, 

He pass'd by the town and out of the street, 
A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, 

And waves of shadow went over the wheat, 
And he sat him down in a lonely place, 

And chanted a melody loud and sweet, 
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, 

And the lark drop down at his feet. 

The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee, 

The snake slipt under a spray, 
The wild-hawk stood with the down on his beak, 

And stared, with his foot on the prey ; 
And the nightingale thought, " I have sung many songs, 

But never a one so gay, 
For he sings of what the world will be 

When the years have died away." 

2. As soon as a writer's place is fixed in the mind, and the 
writer has received individuality, let the pupil turn at once, a& 
the main study, to the author's works. Illustrations of the liter- 
1* 



Vlll 



PREFACE. 



1400-1550. 

Revival of Learning= 



Sir Thomas More, 

The Discovery of America, 

Henry VIII. , 

Lorenzo de Medici, 

James I, of Scotland, 



Surrey and Wyatt, 
Stories of Arthur, 



The Invention of Printing, 
Caxton, 

Translation of the Bible, 
Ballad Poetry, 
Minstrelsy, 

The Byzantine Empire, 
Erasmus. 



Each pupil before leaving class must select his subject, so that 
there may be no confusion. If two or three should choose the 
same, it will only tax them to greater efforts to excel. But 
the ground of the lesson should be entirely covered, and each 
theme should be presented in an attractive light by the teacher. 
If the pupils have done their part well, the next lesson will 
be a treat to all. The pupils will not have relied alone upon 
the text-book before them, but will recall all that they have 
ever read or heard upon the subject, and will consult every 
available source of information. Each of the above subjects 
may call out original thought on the part of the pupil, and the 
facts as he relates them must always be given in his own lan- 
guage. All terror of writing disappears before a subject upon 
which a pupil has something to say. 

7. An exercise which most teachers have tried is that of par- 
aphrasing. The exquisite description of winter in the Vision 
of Sir Launfal affords an attractive theme; so also Drake's 
Culprit Fay, a description from Goldsmith, or from any author 
whose words convey an exact image of that which is described. 

8. After pupils have gained a respectable knowledge of sev- 
eral authors, it is a good exercise to let them bring in brief 
extracts from these authors — a striking sentence in prose, or a 
line or stanza of poetry — characteristic of the author, if possi- 
ble—and recite them in class, letting the class recognize the 
author, either from memory of the lines quoted or from a 
knowledge of the general style of the writer. They should 
also know from what work the lines are extracted, and all that 
it is possible to know about them. 

9. An interesting review may be conducted by having the 
pupils themselves ask the questions. Give, for instance, a cer- 



PREFACE. 



ix 



tain period to be reviewed, and request each pupil to come 
prepared with, say ten questions upon that period — prepared, 
also, to answer them. The asking of a question frequently in- 
dicates the state of knowledge better than the answering. 

My pupils who will use this book will recognize not only 
familiar methods of teaching, but familiar theories. One which 
I have always advanced in the teaching of literature is, that a 
seemingly superficial course is sometimes, in reality, the pro- 
founder method of teaching. But to give this apparently su- 
perficial course, without in reality being superficial, requires 
judgment and discretion. One of the most important lessons 
in life is to learn to sift, to separate the useless from the use- 
ful — to leave the chaff and garner the wheat; and, having 
learned how to distinguish the genuine from the false, to learn 
how to appreciate the best. It has been with apprehension 
for the growth and love of literature as a study in school, that 
I have observed the tendency to take up the exclusive con- 
sideration of one author before the basis of the whole study has 
been laid. The main objection to a course of literature which 
includes but one, two, or three authors is, that it is not broadly 
cultivating. The exhaustive study of one author, it is true, is 
in itself a species of education, and indeed an invaluable one, 
with a prior knowledge of the general ground of literature ; and 
this knowledge may be acquired in a comparatively short time. 

To give such a knowledge is the aim and scope of this book. 
When the pupil has mastered it, he is ready to take up a more 
exclusive course, a course laid down in many of the excellent 
works already before the public. The knowledge he will have 
gained by a study of the general features of literature, and the 
taste which it will create for literature itself, will render these 
exhaustive works all the more attractive. But until a pupil is 
led up by alluring steps, he will not find in the exclusive study 
of Chaucer or Spenser, Bacon or Milton, nor even of Shake- 
speare, the delight he would have, if, with even a slight knowl- 
edge of other writers, and a general knowledge of the ground 
of literature, he should attempt the exclusive study of these. 

Perhaps one of the best exercises which I ever presented 
before my pupils was to require of them undivided and scrupu- 
lous attention, while in the brief space of the period allotted 



X 



PREFACE. 



for the recitation I would tell them the history of English lit- 
erature. Standing before my "Chart of General Literature," 
which unfolds the whole story itself, I would begin at the 
beginning and follow its development from Caedmon down to 
the present time. First, however, I usually made one prelimi- 
nary lesson or lecture, from a map of Europe and Asia. Point- 
ing to the first known abodes of the Aryan race, I would follow 
their course westward to the Black Sea, then north-westward 
to the Baltic, adding whatever of incident and story would give 
force to the recital ; and having told from the map the story 
now published in the first chapter of the u Hand-Book, " and 
briefly in this, I would say to the class, whose close attention had 
followed every word: u To-morrow I shall call on some one of 
you — I cannot tell which — to give me this same story." It is 
with sincere pleasure that I recall the accuracy and intelligence 
with which my story of the preceding day would be repeated by 
the pupil upon whom I had called, all the others giving the 
closest attention, and ready to prompt, if needed, at any point. 
But I cannot recall an instance where any prompting was neces- 
sary. And here, though it may not be pertinent alone to the 
study of literature, I would urge as an exercise, for a short time 
only, that intense concentration of attention, with its proof. 
Nothing will sooner convince a pupil that one hour of real, 
applied thought, to any given subject, will accomplish, more for 
him than a day or a week of desultory study, which is not 
study. 

The field of literature is so broad and so full that, in a work 
like this, I have only attempted to conduct the pupil to a "hill- 
side," that he might obtain a more extended view of the sub- 
ject, letting his gaze linger only long enough over each fair 
feature to make him delight in the "goodly prospect." 

With the subject thus spread out before him, he may direct 
his future pursuits in literature with intelligence, and his after- 
life may be devoted to the study of any one of the great mas- 
ters. If this short course serves to lay the foundation for 
broader study in the future, and to create a taste, a love, for 
the best literature, its purpose has been fulfilled. 

Esther J. Trimble Lippincott. 
Philadelphia, January, 1884. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — First Period of English History and 

Literature 13 

II.— Transition Period 21 

III. — The Age of Chaucer 25 

IV. — Revival of Learning 33 

V.— The Elizabethan Period 41 

VI.— The Puritan Age 79 

VII.— The Restoration 99 

VIII.— The Augustan Age 115 

IX.— The Age of Dr. Johnson 141 

X.— The Age of Burns and Cowper 181 

XI.— The Age of Seott and Byron 197 

XII.— The Lake Poets 220 

XIII. — The Victorian Age 245 

XIV. — American Literature. The Colonial 

Period 279 

XV.— The Revolutionary Period 285 

XVI.— The Age of Irving 295 

XVII.— The Age of Emerson 318 

xi 



A CHART 



OF THE 



ARYAN FAMILY OF LANGUAGES. 



IXDIC 



Iranic 



Celtic 



Hellenic 



Romanic 



Sclavonic 



Teutonic 



J Sanscrit and other 
1 languages of India. 

| Zend and other languages 
I of Iran and Persia. 

( . f Welsh, Breton, 
I Cymric \ {SmM ^ 



Gaelic 



Highland Scotch, 
Irish, Manx. 



f Ancient and 
1 Modern Greek. 

f Latin, Italian, French, 
1 Spanish, Portuguese, etc. 

( Russian, Polish, 

( Bohemian, Bulgarian, etc. 

c -,. . f Icelandic, Norwegian, 
Scandinavian X n , ' . _ fe ' 
I Swedish, Danish. 



Germanic 



High German | German. 

r Dutch, 
Low German \ Flemish, 
I English. 



xii 



A 

HISTORY 

OF 

English Literature. 

Chapter I. 

First Period of English History and Literature.— 
Origin of the English Language, 

LITERATURE is the recorded expression of knowledge 
and fancy. In its widest sense it includes all the written 
thoughts of mankind, embracing the works of poets, drama- 
tists, novelists, philosophers, theologians, historians, essayists, 
and critics. In its more restricted sense it excludes all techni- 
cal works, and embraces only those departments of thought in 
which all mankind have a common interest. 

Poetry, the highest expression of the human mind, and the 
earliest form of literature in every nation, may be divided into 
Epic, Dramatic, Lyric, Pastoral, and Didactic. 

Epic poetry treats of the achievements of heroes, and em- 
braces various characters and incidents. The most celebrated 
epics in existence are Homer's Iliad, Yirgil's JEneid, and Mil- 
ton's Paradise Lost. Other epic poems, possessing all the 
requirements of this species of poetry, are the Lay of Beowulf, 
in the Anglo-Saxon tongue, The ]^ibelungen-Lied, in the Ger- 
man, The Cid, in Spanish, The Lusiad of Camoens, in the 
2 13 



14 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Portuguese, Tasso's Jerusalem, in Italian, and the Henriade 
of Voltaire, and Fenelon's Telemachus, in French. Few- 
nations have possessed more than one great epic. Poems 
founded on the deeds of heroes of romance are styled Metrical 
Eomances, but are classed under the head of Epic poetry. 

Dramatic compositions may be either in poetry or in prose. 
The drama differs from the epic in presenting the characters as 
themselves speaking and acting. The principal divisions of the 
drama are Tragedy and Comedy. Tragedy resembles the epic 
in being grave and dignified. It deals chiefly with the crimes 
and sufferings of mankind, exciting in the listener emotions of 
terror and pity. It has, usually, some historic basis. Comedy, 
on the other hand, exhibits merely the humors and follies of 
mankind, its end being simply to excite laughter. 

Lyrical poetry, as the name suggests, was originally adapted 
to the lyre. It includes Odes, Songs, Hymns, Ballads, Sonnets, 
and Elegies. 

Pastoral poetry celebrates the pleasures of rural life, or, as 
its name implies, of shepherd life. The Eclogue represents 
shepherds as talking together. The Idyl is simply a poem de- 
scriptive of rural life. 

Didactic poetry is instructive in its character. Its requisites 
are sound judgment and principles, expressed with sufficient 
imagery to impress the truths it seeks to convey. Satires are 
often classed under Didactic poetry, as their aim is to correct 
follies or abuses by means of ridicule. 

The principal divisions of prose are History, Fiction, Essays, 
and Philosophical works. 

History ranks in prose as the epic does in poetry. It is a 
recital of the important events of the past, and is the most 
dignified form of prose composition. Biography comes under 
the head of History. 

Fiction, in prose, embraces the productions of the imagination 
—the Romance, Novel, Story, etc. 

Philosophical works are those which have the establishment 
of truth for their aim. They embrace the works of Scientists, 
Theologians, Metaphysicians, and those of all great and original 
thinkers. 



FIRST PERIOD OF EXGLISH LITERATURE. 



lb' 



The Essay is a brief expression of the author's own feelings 
upon any one particular subject. It may be philosophical, or 
humorous, or may partake of the nature of criticism. 

The Origin of the English Language. 

The English language, one of the numerous offsprings of the 
great Aryan family, is Teutonic or Germanic in its origin. 
That the student of literature may, at the outset, establish this 
fact in his mind, let him take a map before him and search out 
the little tract of country lying between the Baltic Sea and the 
German Ocean, now known as Schleswig, Holstein, and Jutland. 
This was the fatherland of the English nation, the home of 
the Angles, the Saxons, and the Jutes. The central portion, 
Schleswig, was called Angle-land (England), the southern por- 
tion was called Saxe-land, and the northern portion Jute-land. 
Among themselves these kindred tribes went by the common 
name of Angles (English). 

It is supposed that the original seat of the Aryan family, 
was in the heart of Asia ; that, as the race increased in num- 
bers, it travelled westward, forming, in time, innumerable 
dialects and families of languages. Our first acquaintance with 
the Goths, the ancestors of the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes, is in 
the early part of the first century b. c. We find them as far in 
their westward journey as the borders of the Black Sea, on the 
east side of the river Don. With their great leader Odin, or 
Woden, they are about taking up again their line of travel, 
reaching, as we have seen, the shores of the Baltic* 

And here, in their sea-girt home, we will leave the sons of 
Odin, our Gothic ancestors, and trace the parallel course of 
another great leader. 

Before the middle of the first century before Christ, near the 
time that Odin and his people began their north-westward 



*ln Angle-land, it is said, Odin left his son Baidur, " the Beautiful," while he him- 
self, with others of his tribe, passed over into the land of the Teutons, and extended 
his territory throughout Sweden and Norway. These Gothic tribes are known in 
history as Northmen, Norsemen, etc. They worshipped, as did our English ancestors, 
their heathen deities, Odin, or Woden, Thor. Fria, and Tiw, preserving to us these 
cherished names in the days consecrated to each, Woden's-day, Thor's-day, Fria's- 
day, Tiw's-day. 



16 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



journey, Julius Caesar made his march of conquest through 
Gaul, and, crossing the channel, entered Britain. This was in 
55 b. c, and with this event the authentic history of England 

begins. 

The Britons, or inhabitants of Britain, were Celts, the an- 
cestors of the Scotch, Irish, and Welsh nations. 

Caesar did not himself conquer the country ; but, about a 
hundred years afterwards, other Romans took possession of the 
southern part of Britain. It remained under the dominion of 
Rome until about the middle of the fifth century, when Italy, 
being overrun by the powerful Goths, was obliged to call home 
all her soldiers to her own defence. Southern Britain, thus left 
undefended, became the prey of the unconquered Celts of the 
North, the Scots and Picts of Ireland and Scotland. Long 
dependence on Roman arms had enfeebled the Southern Britons. 
They were powerless to resist their warlike kinsmen. They, 
therefore, it is said, asked the u Englisc folk "—the Angles and 
Saxons and Jutes— to come to their aid. No second invitation 
was needed. They came (449), drove back the Scots and Picts, 
and, liking the country, decided to conquer the Southern Britons 
too, and plant their own nation there. The Britons stoutly 
resisted, but the German nation conquered ; and the Celts, like 
the North American Indians, were driven to the wall. Scarcely 
a vestige of their language remains. 

The Saxons,* for so we are accustomed to call the early 
English, comprising the Saxons, Angles, and Jutes, were now 
firmly established in the island, and the name of England was 
adopted soon after. 

The Anglo-Saxon Period. 

450 -1150. 

English Literature is usually considered as beginning in the 
seventh century, with Caedmon (-680), the first Anglo-Saxon 
poet, but in all probability the u Englisc folk" brought with 
them into Britain the story of a great Gothic hero, Beowulf, 



* The three tribes were called " Saxon " by the Romans, who, in their march of 
conquest, touched only the Southern or Saxon portion, 



FIRST PERIOD OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



17 



who had rescued the kingdom of Denmark from the ravages of 
a deadly monster. But of this we are not certain. It is only 
known that the poem was sung in portions, in the great " mead 
halls " of the Saxon nobles. The chief room of the houses of our 
ancestors was the hall, and here high and low, nobles and serfs, 
assembled for shelter, rest, or diversion. No books beguiled 
the evening hours, so singing songs and telling stories took the 
place of reading, and it was a pleasant custom thus to gather 
together in the wide hall, where, seated on rude benches 
ranged around the wall, each took his turn in singing or reciting. 
The songs were usually accompanied by the harp. It was in 
such a scene as this that Caedmon, the first Anglo-Saxon or 
English poet, was found. He did not know that he was a poet. 
He was only an ignorant cowherd. But one evening, when the 
songs were being sung, and he saw that his turn was approach- 
ing, ashamed of his inability to make a song, he rushed out of 
the hall and threw himself down among the cattle in stall. Here 
he fell asleep, and dreamed that an angel came to him and told 
him to sing. The poor cowherd pleaded his ignorance, but the 
angel persisted, and gave him as his theme the Song of Creation. 
Caedmon opened his lips and sung words he had never heard be- 
fore, and, strangest of all, when he awoke he could recall them, 
and in the ecstasy of his inspiration still went on chanting. 

This was in the seventh century, when monasteries were the 
only schools, and none but priests, or those connected with the 
monasteries, could read or write. It often happened that good 
women were the founders and heads of these institutions ; and 
at Whitby, up on the Yorkshire coast, the Abbess Hilda gov- 
erned hers. To her the poor cowherd went with his wonderful 
story, and she prevailed upon him to enter the monastery and 
cultivate his gift of song, first, however, having tested his power 
of " making," * by relating to him stories from the Bible, and 
requiring him to turn them into verse. He afterwards para- 
phrased the whole story of the Fall of Man. f 

All the learned works of this time were written in Latin, so 
but little prose was contributed to the early English Literature. 



* Poets were called " Makers." 

t This poem, if compared with Milton's Paradise Lost, will seem like the skeleton 
of that epic. 

2* B 



18 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Bede, 673-735, wrote in Latin a History of the English Church, 
and a Life of Caedmon. 

Alfred, 848-901, the good and great king, translated the 
Latin works into the English, or Anglo-Saxon of his time, that 
his people might learn to love and honor their own mother 
tongue. He not only took upon himself the labor of teaching, 
but employed scholars from abroad to help him in his great 
work of educating the people. 

At his instigation the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle was begun. This 
was a series of annals beginning with the Roman invasion, 55 
b. c. This chronicle was discontinued in 1154 ; its close marks 
the end of the Anglo-Saxon period of English Literature. 



Illustrations of the Literature of the First English 
or Anglo-Saxon Period. 

450—1150. 

From Beowulf. 

The scenes in the story of Beowulf are laid in Denmark and 
Sweden (Gothland). The hero, Beowulf, is a Goth, who, hear- 
ing of the distress of Hrothgar, King of Denmark, owing to 
the nightly ravages of a monster named Grendel, goes with a 
company of fifteen warriors to rid the Danish lord of his 
dreaded foe. 



^a waes on salum 
sinces brytta, 
gamol-feax and guft-rof, 
geoce gelyfde 
brego beorht-Dena : 
gehyrde on Beowulfe 
folces hyrde 
faestraedne geK>ht. 
*£aer waes haele>a hleahtor 
hlyn suynsode, 
word waeron wynsume, 
eode Wealhtheow forft 
cwe*n Hroftgares 



Then was rejoiced 

the distributor of treasure, 

hoar-lock' d and far-famed, 

trusted in succour 

the bright Danes' lord, 

in Beowulf heard 

the people's shepherd 

steadfast resolve. 

There was laughter of men 

the din resounded, 

words were winsome, 

Wealhtheow went forth, 

Hrothgar' s queen ; 



LITERATURE OF THE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 19 



cynna gemyndig, 
grette gold-hroden 
guman on healle 
and >a freolic wife 
ful gesealde 
aerst East-Dena 
6)>el-wearde 

baed hine bliftne (beon) 
aet >aere beor-l>ege, 
leodum leofne. 

After the feasting is over, the 
and Beowulf awaits the coming 

fa, com of more 
under mist-hle6J?um 
Grendel gongan ; 

W6d under wolcnum 
to )>aes \>q he win-reced 
gold-sele gumena 
gearwost wisse 
faettum fahne. 



mindful of their races, 

the gold-adorned one greeted 

the men in hall, 

and then the joyous woman 

gave the cup 

first to the East-Danes' 

country's guardian ; 

bade him (be) blithe 

at the beer drinking, 

the dear to his people. 

king and his household retire, 
of the nightly visitant. 

Then came from the moor 
under the misty hills 
Grendel stalking ; 

He strode under the clouds 
until he the wine-house, 
the golden hall of men, 
most readily perceived 
richly variegated. 



After a long contest Beowulf kills the monster, and, receiving 
rich gifts from Hrothgar, returns to his own country — the land 
of the East Goths. In due season he becomes king of this 
country ; and his last warlike encounter is with a fiery dragon 
that infests his own domain. Beowulf kills the dragon, but 
dies from venom received in the conflict. 

The story of Beowulf was wholly Gothic in its original 
conception, and the few interpolations, giving the tone of the 
later religion, were probably made by some monk of the seventh 
century. It is impossible to fix the date of the composition of 
this old Pagan story. It must simply stand as the first known 
poem in our language, or, indeed, in any Teutonic language. 

From Caedmon's Song of Creation. 

Nti we sceolan heYian, Now we shall praise 

heofon-rices weard, the guardian of heaven, 

metodes mihte, . the maker's might, 

and his mod-gethonc, and his mind's thought, 



20 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



wera wuldor-fader ! 
swa he wundra gehwaes, 
ece dryhten, 
ord onstealde. 
He aerst gesceop 
ylda bearnum 
heofon to hrofe, 
halig scyppend ! 
tha middan-geard, 
mon-cynnes weard 
ece dryhten, 
aefter teode, 
firum foldan, 
frea aelmihtig ! 



the glory-father of men ! 
how he of all wonders, 
the eternal lord, 
formed the beginning. 
He erst created 
for earth's children 
heaven as a roof, 
the holy creator ! 
then this mid- world, 
the guardian of mankind, 
the eternal lord, 
produced afterwards 
the earth for men, 
the almighty master ! 



Syllabus. 



The English language is Teutonic, or Germanic, in its origin. The early 
home of the English people was in Schleswig. 

Our knowledge of Britain dates from 55 B. c. The first known inhabit- 
ants of the island were Celts, the ancestors of the Scotch, Irish, and Welsh. 
The English took possession of the country in 449. 

English literature begins with Caedmon in the seventh century. The 
Lay of Beowulf was the first Anglo-Saxon poem ; but when or by whom it 
was written is unknown. Bede wrote Latin prose. King Alfred's great 
aim was to cultivate the vernacular language. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 
was begun at his instigation. It closed in 1154. 




I 



CHAPTER II. 



»0>*<0« 

The Transition Period. 

1150—1350. 

IN" 1066, England was conquered by the Normans, who in 
reality were allied to the Anglo-Saxon people, being descend- 
ed from the Franks and other Gothic races. * They introduced 
the Norman French language into England, and for nearly two 
hundred years the conquerors and conquered remained mutually 
repellent. French was the language of the court and higher 
circles, and Anglo-Saxon was spoken by the common people. 

About the middle of the twelfth century, however, the two 
languages began to compromise— to coalesce ; and, as in this 
time we recognize the dawning of modern English, we call it 
the Transition Period. 

The twelfth century is a notable landmark in the history of 
the English nation and literature. Not only was the English 
language forming, but the English character and nation were 
asserting themselves, as the Magna Charta evidenced. The 
Norman conquest had not been without its good results, and 
France in the twelfth century became the source of English cult- 
ure and refinement. The University of Paris was soon rivalled 
by the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Social and domestic 



* Northern France, settled by the Northmen, was called Normandy or Northinans- 
land ; Southern France was called Provence, and was wholly different in its language 
and literature. 

21 



22 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



refinement followed. Parlors were added to the former hall or 
room for general assembling, and windows and chimneys were 
introduced. Floors were strewn with rushes, and tapestry 
decorated the walls. Habits of neatness were enjoined, and 
Books of Courtesy were circulated. 

A mine of wealth was opened to the literary world in the 
twelfth century, by the discovery in Brittany* of the Legends 
of King Arthur and his Knights of the Bound Table. It was in 
the twelfth century, also, that the Eddas — traditions of the 
Gothic race — were collected in Iceland, whither they had been 
carried by the Northmen soon after Christianity made its 
way into northern Europe. f 

Eomances founded on history and tradition became numer- 
ous. Besides the legends of Arthur, romantic ballads on Robin 
Hood, the bold outlaw, were sung, and numerous other metri- 
cal romances were popular. 

The great light of the thirteenth century was Roger Bacon 
(1214-1292), the first great English scientist. He anticipated 
many of the later discoveries in optics, and this at a time when 
research and investigation in science were unknown. His 
works, like all other learned works of the time, were written in 
Latin. 

Three literary works in the English of this time are prized 
as landmarks in the progress of the language. They are the 
Brut d\ Angleterre of Layamon, a rhymed, fabulous history of 
England ; the Ancren Riwle, or Anchoresses' Rule, a prose 
work of unknown authorship, consisting of rules for monastic 
life ; and the Ormulum, a poetical version of the Scriptures 
by Orm, or Orment. The closing portions of the Anglo-Saxon 
Chronicle also show the changes and modifications that were 
beginning in the language. 



* Brittany, the north-west portion of France, was the stronghold of the ancient 
Britains when they fled from the rude Saxons. King Arthur is represented as a 
British king of great prowess and Christian purity, who lived in the fifth or sixth 
century. His birth is wrapped in obscurity. Layamon says: 

" Sone swa he com an eorthe As soon as he came on earth 

Aluen hine iuengen." Elves took him. 

f The Anglo-Saxons were converted to Christianity by Augustine in 597. 



LITERATURE OF THE TRANSITION PERIOD. 23 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Transition 

Period. 



1150—1350. 



From Layamon's translation of Brut & Angleterre. 



The time co the wes icoren ; 

tha wes Arthur iboren. 

Sone swa he com an eorthe 

allien hine iuengen 

heo bigolan that child : 

mid galdere swithe stronge 

heo geue him mihte 

to beon bezst aire cnihten. 

heo geuen him an other thing 

that he scolde beon riche king. 

heo giuen hi that thridde ; 

that he scolde longe libben. 

heo gifen him that kine-bern 

custen swithe gode 

that he wes mete-custi 

of alle quikemonnen. 

this the alue him gef 

and al swa that child ithaeh. 



The time came that was chosen 

then was Arthur born. 

Soon as he came on earth 

elves took him : 

they enchanted the child 

with magic most strong. 

They gave him might 

to be the best of all knights. 

They gave him another thing, 

that he should be a rich king. 

They gave him the third, 

that he should live long. 

They gave to him — the king-born 

gifts most good, 

that he was most generous 

of all men alive. 

This the elves gave him, 

and thus the child thrived. 



From the Ancben Biwle. 



Ye ne schulen eten vleschs ne 
seim buten ine muchele secknesse ; 
other hwoso is euer feble eteth pot- 
age blitheliche ; and wunieth ou to 
lutel drunch 

Sum ancre maketh hire bord mid 
hire gistes ' withuten. Thet is to 
much ureondschipe, uor, of alle 
ordres theonne is hit unkuindelu- 
kest and mest ayean ancre ordre 
thet is al dead to the worlde. 



You shall not eat flesh nor lard 
except in much sickness ; or whoso 
is ever feeble may eat pottage 
blithely ; and accustom yourselves 

to little drink 

Some anchoresses make their board 
with their friends, without. That 
is too much friendship, for of all 
orders then, is it most unnatural and 
most against anchoress's order, that 
is all dead to the world. 



24 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



The Song of Summer. 



Sumer is i-cumen in 

Hlude sing, cuccu, 

Groweth sed, and bloweth med 

And springeth the wde nu, 
Sing cuccu, cuccu. 

Awe bleteth after lomb, 

Llouth after calve cu, 

Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth, 
Murie sing, cuccu, 
Cuccu, cuccu. 

Wei singes thu cuccu, 

Ne swik thu nauer nu, 

Cuccu, cuccu. 



Summer is a coming in 

Loud sing, cuckoo, 

Groweth seed, and bloweth mead 

And springeth the wood now, 
Sing cuckoo, cuckoo. 

Ewe bleateth after lamb, 

Loweth calf after cow, 

Bullock starteth, buck departeth, 
Merry sing, cuckoo, 
Cuckoo, cuckoo. 

Well singeth the cuckoo, 

Nor cease to sing now, 

Cuckoo, cuckoo. 



From the Boke of Curtasye. 

Another curtasye y wylle the teche, 

Thy fadur and modur, with mylde speche, 

Thou worschip and serve with alle thy mygt, 

That thou dwelle the lengur in erthely lygt. 

To another man do no more amys, 

Then thou woldys be don of hym and hys, 

So Crist thou pleses, and gets the love 

Of menne and God that syttes above. 

Be not to meke, but in mene the holde, 

For elles a fole thou wylle be tolde. 



»O^Oo 

Syllabus. 

The Normans conquered England in 1066. Norman French language 
became the language of the court. 

The twelfth century is a notable landmark in English history and liter- 
ature. Larger liberties were demanded by the people. Universities sprang 
up, and with them refinement and culture. The Celtic legends of Arthur 
were discovered, and the Gothic traditions — the Eddas of the Northmen. 

Roger Bacon was the first English Scientist. 

The works of Layamon, the Ormulum, and the Ancren Riwle are 
prized as landmarks in the progress of the English language. 



CHAUCER. 



Chapter III. 

The Age of Chaucer. 

1350—1400. 

IjlABLY modern English began about the middle of the four- 
J teenth century. The chief representative of the language 
and literature of this time was Geoffrey Chaucer, 1328-1400, 
usually styled the " Father of English Poetry." 

Comparatively little is known of the life of Chaucer. He is 
supposed to have been born in London, in the year 1328. He 
was conspicuous in the court of Edward III. as a courtier and 
gentleman, and was frequently employed on embassies of trust 
to foreign nations. In his visits to Italy he probably met with 
Petrarch,* and read the stories of Boccaccio. f He married 
Philippa Pycard, maid of honor to the queen and sister to the 
wife of John of Gaunt, third son of Edward III. This 'prince 
bestowed upon Chaucer not only patronage, but the warmest 
friendship, so that the poet's fortunes rose and fell with the 
fortunes of the house of Lancaster. 

At the age of sixty Chaucer began to write the Canterbury 
Tales. A short time before his death he leased a residence in 
the garden of the priory of Westminster, and here, in the year 
1400, he died. He was the first poet buried in Westminster 
Abbey. 

We can see the gay and childlike character of Chaucer in 



* An Italian poet. 1304-1374. 
3 



f An Italian romancer, 1313-1375. 

25 



26 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



his writings, the best known of which are the Canterbury ToJ.es. 
These are a series of stories told by a company of pilgrims on 
their journey to the tomb of Thomas a Becket.* Xo better 
picture of the times could be presented than this scene affords. 

Whatever the object of the journey, it was customary to travel 
in companies, as the highways were beset by robbers ; so. in the 
Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, we are introduced to 

" Wei nyne and twenty in a companye of sondry folk," 

who meet at the Tabard Inn, London, to rest over night, and 
to set out on their journey in the morning to the shrine of the 
martyred saint at Canterbury. These pilgrims are from every 
station in life. There are the Knight and his son, u a 3~onge 
Squier," a Clerk, a Xun, a Friar, a Doctor of Medicine, a man 
of Law, a Parson, a Miller, a Cook, a Carpenter, a Weaver, 
a Wife of Bath, a Prioress, a Yeoman, a Franklin or rich 
country gentleman, a Plowman, a Pardoner, a Haberdasher, a 
Manciple or steward of a college or religious house, a Keeve 
or bailiff, a Sompnour, an officer who summoned offenders into 
courts, a Dyer, a Tapisser or maker of tapestry, a Merchant, 
a Shipman, two or three priests, and several tradesmen. The 
host of the Tabard, who has ministered to their wants, pro- 
poses to accompany them on their journey ; but, says he, 

" Truly comfort ne mirth is noon, 
To ryde by the way as domb as a stoon," 

so he proposes that each shall tell two stories going and two t 
returning, and that he who tells the best story shall have a 
supper^on their return at the expense of the rest. He himself 
will be the judge of the excellence of the stories. To make the 
scene more real, Chaucer places himself among the travellers, 
and as they journey on they tell, amid laughter and tears, their 
stories of mirth and sorrow. 

The genial spirit of the poet pervades all his writings ; and 
his love for the smallest birds and flowers show how entirely 
his heart was attuned to nature's harmony. There is an un- 

* Archbishop of Canterbury, in the reign of Henry II. He was assassinated in the 
Cathedral of Canterbury, 1171, and canonized three years afterwards. 

f Chaucer did not fulfil this design, and the Canterbury Tales consist of but twenty- 
Ht« stories. 



THE AGE OF CHAUCER. 



27 



rivalled freshness in his spirit, which has been compared to a 
"genial day in an English spring." His love for the daisy is 
everywhere noticeable throughout his works, and is the subject 
of some of his happiest lines. * 

The poetry of the time consisted of imitations. Chaucer 
borrowed, but, in most cases, he improved upon the original. 
His "Komance of the Rose " is a translation of the French 
allegorical poem of the same name. The earliest poems of 
Chaucer are all pervaded by the spirit of Provencal poetry, and 
Courts of Love t form an important feature. 

Among the poems of Chaucer which bear the stamp of this 
Provencal or Romance influence are The Court of Love, The 
Assembly of Fowles, The Cuckoo and the Nightingale, The Flower 
and the Leaf, and the House of Fame. The latter is one of the 
finest of Chaucer's poems, and gives evidence of much learn- 
ing. 

With true poetic instincts, Chaucer is keenly alive to all the 
sweet sounds, sights, and odors in nature. The spring is the 
season in which he especially delights : 

" When showres sweet of raine descended softe, 
Causing the ground, fele 1 times and ofte, 
Up for to give many an wholesome aire." 

May is his favorite month. He says : 

" And as for me, though that I konne 2 but lyte, 3 
On bokes for to rede I me delyte, 
And to hem yeve 4 I feyth and ful credence, 
And in myn herte 5 heve hem in reverence 



* This little flower was, in the times of chivalry, considered as an emblem of 
fidelity in love. Knights set out on their adventures under its protection, and at 
tournaments it was worn by both knights and ladies. The rose was, in like manner, 
honored. 

f These courts were a species of tribunal in imitation of the higher courts of jus- 
tice. A wealthy baron would invite to his castle his neighboring peers, where, for 
several days, the time was spent in jousts and tournaments. After the distribution 
of honors to those who had been decided victors in these contests, a Court of Love 
was opened, consisting of the most beautiful women of the castle, who distributed 
honors again to knights, who might enter the lists as competitors, not in arms, but 
in verse. In these contests questions pertaining to love were debated by the com- 
batants, and decided by the lady who, as queen of Love, presided. 

1 many. 2 know. \ little. 4 give. • heart. 



28 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



So hertely, that ther is game noon, 

Thet fro my bokes maketh me to goon, 

But 1 yt be seldome on the holy day ; — 

Save, certeynly, when that the moneth of May 

Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, 

And that the flowres gynnen for to sprynge, 

Farewel my boke, and my devocion ! " 

Everything in nature inspires him with fresh delight. In the 
" Cuckoo and the Nightingale," after describing the songs of 
the birds in the early morning, that " daunceden and lepten on 
the spray," he says : 

"And the rivere that I sate upon 
It made such a noise as it ron, 
Accordaunt with the birdes armony, 
Methought it was the best melody 
That might ben yheard of any mon." 

"Piers Plowman " was probably one William or Eobert 
Langeland (1333-1400). The poem by which he is known is 
styled the Vision of Piers Plowman. It is an allegory, dis- 
closing many prevalent abuses of the church and society. 

The Age of Chaucer was a period of intellectual regeneration 
throughout Europe. In Italy the spirit of poetry, which had 
died with the old writers of the " Augustan Age," * was revived 
in Dante. f In England the awakening of thought was mainly 
due to the preaching of John Wycliffe (1324-1384), the 
"Morning Star of the Reformation." His name stands pre- 
eminent among the prose writers of this period. His greatest 
work is the Translation of the Bible from the Latin Vulgate 
into English. Different portions of the Bible had been at dif- 
ferent times translated into the Anglo-Saxon, but it was Wyc- 
liffe's aim to have the whole Bible translated and used by the 
people, and not by the clergy only. X 

Sir John Mandeville (1300-1372) spent most of his life in 

* Virgil, Horace, Ovid, etc., who lived in the time of Augustus Caesar, 63 b. c-14 a. d. 
f Dante died seven years before Chaucer was born. 

1 This version had much influence upon other versions that were printed, and upon 
our own, or King James' Version, made in 1611. Wycliffe's Bible was completed in 
1382, and no other translation was attempted for a hundred and fifty years. 

1 be out, except. 



LITERATURE OF CHAUCER'S TIME. 



29 



travelling. After an absence of thirty-four years he returned 
to his native country, and wrote a history of his travels, tell- 
ing some very remarkable and absurd tales, prefacing the in- 
credible stories with "Men seyn, 1 but I have not seen it." 

Illustrations of the Literature of Chaucer's Time. 

CHAUCER. 

From the Knight's Tale. 

In a tour, in angwische and in woo, 

This Palamon, and his felawe Arcite, 

Forevermo, 2 ther may no gold hem quyte. 

This passeth yeer by veer, and day by day, 

Till it fel oones in a morwe of May 

That Emelie, that fairer was to seene 

Than is the lilie on hire stalkes grene, 

Er it was day, as sche was wont to do, 

Sche was arisen, and al redy dight. 3 

Hire yolwe heer 4 was browdid in a tresse 

Byhynde hire bak, a yerde long I gesse. 

And in the gardyn, as the sun upriste, 

Sche walketh up and down wher as hire list. 

Sche gadereth floures, parti whyte and reede, 

To mak a sotil garland for hire heede, 

And as an aungel hevenly sche song. 

The greate Tower that was so thikke and strong, 

Which of the castel was the chief dongeoun 

(Where as these knightes were in prisoun), 

Was even joinant to the gardeyn wal, 

There as this Emelie hadde her pleying* 

Bright was the sonne, and clere the morwenyng, 

And Palamon, this woful prisoner, 

As he was romyng to and fro, 

And to himself compleynyng of his wo, 

* Any light exercise was called playing. 
1 say. 2 were imprisoned for evermore. 3 dressed. 4 yellow hair. 

3* 



30 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Thurgh a wyndow, thikke of many a barre, 
He cast his eyen upon Emelya, 
And therewithal he blent and cryed, a ! 
As that he stongen were to the herte. 
And with that crye Arcite anon uppterte 
And sayd, " Cosyn myn, what aileth the 
That art so pale and dedly for to see ? " 
And with that word Arcite gan espye 
Wher as this lady romed to and fro, 
And with that sight hire beaute hurt him so, 
That if Palamon was wounded sore, 
Arcite is hurt as moche as he, or more. 

Canterbury Tales, 

From the ClerWs Tale. 

Among this pore folk there dwelt a man, 
Which that was holden porest of hem alle, 

But heighe God som tyme sende can 
His grace unto a litel oxe stalle. 
Janicula men of that thorp him calle. 

A doughter hed he fair y-nough to sight, 

And Grisildes this yonge mayden hight. 1 

# * * * * * # 

This story is sayd, not for thet wyves sholde 

Folwe 2 Grisild, as in humilite, 

For it were importable, 3 though they wolde ; 

But for that every wight in his degre 

Schulde be constant in adversite.— Canterbury Tales. 

From the Cuckoo and the Nightingale. 

But now I woll you tell a wonder thing, 
As long as I lay in that swouning, 
Me thought I wist what the briddes ment, 
And what thei said and what was hir intent, 
And of hir speech I had good knowing. 

There heard I the nightingale say, 
"Now good cuckow go somewhere away, 
And let us that can singen dwellen here, 



i was called. 



2 follow. 



8 intolerable. 



LITERATURE OF CHAUCER'S TIME. 



31 



For every wight escheweth thee to here, 
Thy songs be so elenge, 1 in good fay." 

" What," quod she, " may thee alen now ? 
It thinketh me, I sing as wel as thou, 
For my song is both true and plaine, 
And though I cannot erakell so in vaine, 
As thou dost in thy throte, I wot never how, 
Every wight may understande me." 

WYCLIFFB. 

From Translation of the New Testament 

MATTHEW, CHAPTER VIII. 

Forsothe when Jhesus hadde comen down fro the hil, many cumpanyes 
foiewiden hym. And loo ! a leprouse man cummynge worshipide him, 
sayinge ; Lord gif thou wolt, thou maist make me clene. And Jhesus 
holdynge forthe the honde, touchide hym, sayinge, I wole ; be thou maad 
clene. And anoon the lepre of hym was clensid. And Jhesus saith to 
hym ; See, say thou to no man ; but go shewe thee to prestis, and offre 
that gifte that Moyses comaundide, into witnessing to hem. 

Sothely when he hadde entride in to Capharnaum, centurio neigide 
to hym preyinge hym, and said, Lord my child lyeth in the hous sike 
on the palsie, and is yuel tourmentid. And Jhesus saith to hym, I shal 
cume, and shal hele hym. And centurio answerynge saith to hym, 
Lord, I am not worthi, that thou entre vndre my roof ; but oonly say bi 
word, and my child shall be helid. For whi and I am a man ordeynd 
vndre power, hauynge vndir me knightis ; and I say to this, Go, and he 
goth ; and to another, Come thou, and he cometh ; and to my seruaunt, 
Do thou this thing, and he doth. Sothely Jhesus, heerynge these thingis, 
wondride, and said to men suynge hym : Trewly I saye to you, I fond 
not so grete feith in Ysrael. 

SIR JOHN MANDEVILLB. 

OF THE CONTRES AND YLES THAT BEN BEYONDE THE LOND 
OF CATHEY. 

In passynge be the Lond of Cathaye, toward the highe Ynde, and 
toward Bacharye, men passen be a Kyngdom, that men clepen Caldilhe, 



idull. 



32 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



that is a fulle fair Contrie. And there growithe a manere of Fruyt, as 
thoughe it weren Gourdes ; and whan thei ben rype, men kutten hem 
a to, and men fynden with-inne a lytylle Best, in Flessche in Bon, and 
Blode, as though it were a lytylle Lomb with outen Wolle. And men 
eten bothe the Frut and the Best ; and that is a gret Marveylle. Of 
that Frute I have eten ; alle thoughe it were wondirfulle : but that I 
knowe wel, that God is marveyllous in his Werkes. And natheles I 
tolde hem, of als gret a Marveylle to hem that is amonges us : and that 
was of the Bernakes.* For I told hem that in oure Contrie weren Trees 
that beren a Fruyt, that becomen Briddes fleeynge ; and thei that fellen 
into the Water ly ven ; and thei that fallen on the Erthe, dyen anon : 
and thei ben right gode to Mannes mete. And here of had thei als gret 
marvaylle, that sume of hem trowed it mere an impossible thing to be. 



Syllabus. 

Early modern English dates from the middle of the fourteenth century 
—from Chaucer's time. 

Chaucer is styled the " Father of English Poetry." His love of nature 
and of human kind is manifest in all his writings. He was sixty before 
he began writing the Canterbury Tales. 

" Piers Plowman " was a poet contemporary with Chaucer. 

Wycliffe was the most important character of the time. His greatest 
work is the translation of the Bible. 

Sir John Mandeville was a traveller, and wrote a history of Ms 
travels. 



* Barnacles, the name of a species of sea fowl, anciently supposed to grow out of 
the barnacles attached to wood in the sea, 



CAXTON. 



CHAPTER IV, 
The Revival of Learning. 

1400—1558. 

AFTER Chaucer no great name appears in the history of 
English Literature for nearly a century and a half. It 
was as if the fresh morning ushered in by that genial poet had 
suddenly been clouded over. Yet the period, however void of 
literary genius, was far from being one of inaction. It was an 
age of preparation, a gathering of forces for the great literary 
outburst of the following period. The seed sown by Wycliffe 
was expanding into the Reformation. Learning was univer- 
sally encouraged. The Byzantine Empire had fallen into the 
hands of the Turks, and the learned men of Constantinople, 
obliged to flee for their safety, sought refuge in foreign coun- 
tries, thus diffusing the accumulated learning of their capital. 
The court of Lorenzo de Medici, the great Italian patron of 
learning, was thrown open to receive them, and thither from 
every nation flocked the ripest scholars to gain instruction from 
these learned men. The study of Greek and Latin was every- 
where revived. 

The invention of printing was, however, the leading cause 
of the dissemination of learning in the latter part of the fif- 
teenth century, while the spirit of discovery which incited 
daring maritime adventures, and added a New World to the 
Old, had increased the restless desire for knowledge. 

England shared the spirit of the age in contributing to the 
revival of learning. The attention of the learned being called 
to the Greek and Latin, it followed, that the art of poetry was 

C 33 



34 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



left in the hands of the common people. Hence, to this age we 
are indebted for our Ballad Poetry. ;f In these rude rhymes 
we obtain a more vivid glimpse of the national life of the people 
than through the more polished productions of the learned.! 

Among the ballads which may be referred to this time are 
Chevy-Chase, The Battle of Otterbourne, The Nut-Brown Maid. 
and various poems on Bobin Hood, the bold outlaw. 

The most remarkable character and most distinguished prose 
writer of this period was Sir Thomas More (1480-1535). 
After the fall of Cardinal Wolsey he became Lord Chancellor, 
which high office he held until 1535, when he became obnoxious 
to Henry VIII., and was beheaded, ostensibly for denying that 
monarch to be the supreme head of the church. No character 
ever presented greater contradictions than that of Sir Thomas 
More. A stern and rigid Catholic, scourging weekly his own 
body, and wearing next to the lacerated flesh a shirt of hair, 
from his chair of office carrying to the verge of cruelty the 
punishment of offenders, he was yet the most genial companion 
and wittiest of men. His home at Chelsea w T as the resort of the 
learned and great, who gathered here for the rare privilege of 
enjoying his conversation. The contests of wit between More 
and the learned Erasmus J were sometimes very brilliant. \ 

The chief work of Sir Thomas More is the Utopia, the name 
signifying JSfo Place. It was written in Latin, and is a satire 
on the state of society in his own time. Utopia is a place of 
ideal perfection in laws, politics, and manners. It is repre- 



* Excepting Spain, no countries in Europe are so rich in ballad literature as Eng- 
land and Scotland. 

f Of the known poets of this period, there were better writers among the Scotch 
than among the English. James I. of Scotland (1394-1437) ranks highest among the 
poets of the fifteenth century. 

The two polishers of English verse, in the early part of the sixteenth century, 
were Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1516-1547), and Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503- 
1542). In these two we see begun the refining of language which characterized the 
next age. Surrey introduced the Sonnet and Blank Verse into English poetry. 

% A learned Hollander, who spent much time in England. 

£ A striking feature of More's humor was his ability to jest under the most painful 
circumstances. Even upon the scaffold he jested. Laying his head upon the block, 
he, for an instant, suspended the headsman's blow, as with characteristic, yet unex- 
ampled, serenity he gathered in his hand his long beard, saying, as he drew it aside, 
"Spare this: it hath committed no treason." 



THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING. 



35 



sented as an island in the shape of a crescent, so much curved 
that the two extremities coming close together form an excel- 
lent harbor. So graphic was More's description of this island, 
and its happy inhabitants, that some wise men of the day be- 
lieved it really existed, and desired to send missionaries to con- 
vert so excellent a people to Christianity ! 

The art of printing was first introduced into England by 
William Caxton (1412-1492), who, though he laid no great 
claim to authorship, wrote and translated several books, and 
brought into notice the best works of his own and preceding 
times. The first book printed in England was The Game of 
Chess, 1474. The first book printed in the English language 
was The History of Troy. This was printed in Cologne, 1471. 

About the year 1470, Sra Thomas Malory collected the 
Stories of King Arthur, under the title of the Byrth, Lyfe, and 
Actes of Kyng Arthur. The work was printed by Caxton in 
1485. 

Bible Translations. 

Wycliffe's translation of the Bible had been completed in 
1382, and circulated in manuscript copies. For a century and 
a half no other translation had been attempted. Twenty years 
after the death of WyclifFe it was decreed that 

" No one should thereafter translate any text of the Bible into Eng- 
lish, and that no book of this kind should be read that was composed 
lately in the time of John Wyclif, or since his death." 

No decrees, however, could intimidate William Tyndale 
(1480-1536), who had long cherished the design of translating 
the Bible from the original Greek and Hebrew, and in 1525 his 
New Testament appeared. While prosecuting his work of 
translation in Holland, he was seized by the order of Henry 
VIII., and imprisoned, and, in 1536, burned near Antwerp. 
His last words were : " O Lord, open the King of England's 
eyes ! " Scarcely had Tyndale expired before the arbitrary 
king, having created himself head of the Church of England, 
commanded the circulation of the Bible throughout the realm. 

Other translations rapidly followed Tyndale's. The first (1535) was 
made by Miles Coverdale. Matthew's Bible appeared in 1537. 



36 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



It was mainly the work of Tyndale and John Kogers ; but as these two 
were associated in the work for which Tyndale became obnoxious to the 
king, it is supposed that it was thought best to suppress their names, 
and supply the fictitious name of " Thomas Matthew." 

The Great Bible, or Cranmer's, as it is called, because Archbishop 
Cranmer wrote a preface to it, appeared in 1539. The Geneva Bible* 
was prepared by the English Protestants who took refuge in Geneva 
during the reign of Mary. This version was brought out in 1560. The 
Bheims-Douay Version f was made by the Catholics, who fled from 
England during the reign of Elizabeth. The New Testament was 
printed at Rheims in 1582, and the Old Testament at Douay in 1609. 

King James' Bible, commonly called the Authorized Version, 
was made in 1611. This is the Bible now used by Protestants, t 

Illustrations of the Literature of the Period of 
the Revival of Learning. 

From The Ballad of Chevy-Chase. 

The wardens of the marches, or border lands, between Eng- 
land and Scotland were Percy, on the English side of the 
Cheviot Hills, and Douglas, on the Scottish side. The rivalry 
between these two families gave rise to the old ballad of Chevy- 
Chase. Indeed, the border feuds were the subject of many of 
the finest of the old ballads. 

The First Fit. 1 

The Perse owt 2 of Northumberland, 

And a vowe to God mayd he, 
That he wolde hunte in the mountaynes 

Off Chyviat within dayes thre, 
In the mauger 3 of doughte Dogles 

And all that ever with him be. 



* Geneva was the stronghold of Protestantism. 

f Rheims and Douay, cities in the north of France, were to the English Catholics 
of Elizabeth's time what Geneva had been to the Protestants in the time of Mary. 

% It is too soon to predict whether the Revised edition, completed in 1881, will super- 
sede this. 

i From the Anglo-Saxon JUt, a song or part of a song. 2 out. 8 in spite of. 



LITERATURE OF THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING. 37 



The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat 

He saved he wold kill and carry them away ; 

" Be my feth," 1 sayd the doughte Doglas agayn, 
" I wyll let 2 that hontyng gif 3 that I may." 

The dryvars thorowe the woodes went 

For to reas the deer, 
Bow-men bickarte 4 uppone the bent 5 

With their browd arras cleare. 

Then the wyld 6 thorowe the woodes went 

On every syde shear ; 
Grea-hondes thorowe the greves 7 glent 

For to kyll thear deer. 

The began on Chyviat the hyls aboon, 

Yerly on monnyn day. 
Be that it drewe to the hour of none 8 

A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. 

The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good, 

Withouten any fail ; 
The were borne along be the watter a Tweed, 

Yth 9 bowndes of Tividale. 

The doughti Doglas on a stede 

He rode at his men beforne: 
His armor glytteryde as did a glede, 10 

A bolder barne 11 was never born. 

"Tell me what men ye ar," says he, 

"Or whos men that ye be: 
Who gave youe leeve to hunte in this 

Chyviat-Chays in the spyt of me?" 

The first man that ever him an answer meyd, 

Yt was the good lord Perse : 
" We wyll not tell the what men we are," he says, 

" Nor whos men that we be ; 
But we wyll hount heer in this chays 

In the spyte of thyne, and of the. 

1 faith. 2 hinder. 3 if * skirmished. 5 hill. 6 wild deer. 

7 groves. 8 noon. 9 in the. 10 a burning coal. 11 man. 

4 



38 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



"The fattiste hartes in all Chyviatt 

We have kyld, and cast 1 to carry them away." 

" Be my troth/' 2 sayd the doughte Doglas agayn, 
"Ther-for 3 the ton of us shall de this day." * 

SIR THOMAS MORE. 

From the Utopia. 

Of their Laws. — They have but few laws, and such is their consti- 
tution that they need not many. They do very much condemn other 
nations, whose laws, together with the comments on them, swell up so 
many volumes ; for they think it an unreasonable thing to oblige men 
to obey a body of laws that cannot be read or understood by every one 
of the subjects. They have no lawyers among them, for they consider 
them as a sort of people whose profession it is to disguise matters as well 
as to wrest laws. 

Of Wealth. — They wonder much to hear that gold, which in itself 
is a very useless thing, should be everywhere so much esteemed, that - 
even man, for whom it was made and by whom it has its value, should 
yet be thought of less value than it is. 

Of Music. — They exceed as much in their music, both vocal and 
instrumental, which does so imitate and express the passions, and is so 
fitted to the present occasion, whether the subject-matter of the hymn is 
cheerful or made to appease, or troubled, doleful, or angry, that the 
music makes an impression of that which is represented, by which it 
enters deep into the hearers, and does very much affect and kindle 
them. 

In Travelling, — They carry nothing with them, yet in all their 
journey they lack nothing, for wheresoever they come they be at home. 
There are no wine taverns nor ale houses. 

On War. — They detest war as a very brutal thing, and which, to the 
reproach of human nature, is more practised by men than by any sort 
of beasts. 

A Common- Wealth. — In all other places it is visible that whereas 
people talk of a Common- wealth, every man only seeks his own wealth, 
but there all men do zealously pursue the good of the public. 



1 intend. 



2 truth. 3 therefore the one of us shall die this day. 

* This ballad consists of sixty-eight stanzas. 



LITERATURE OF THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING. 39 



WILLIAM TYNDALB. 

From the Translation of the New Testament. 
Luke x. 25. 

And marke a certayne Lawere stode up and tempted hym, sayinge : 
Master, what shal I do to inherit eternall lyfe ? He sayd unto him : 
What is written in the lawe ? Howe redest thou ? And he answerde, 
and sayde : Thou shalt love thy lorde god wyth all thy hert and wyth 
all thy soule and wyth all thy strengthe and wyth all thy mynde and 
thy neighbor as thy self. 

SIR THOMAS MALORY. 

From the History of King Arthur and the Knights of 
the Bound Table. 

How King Arthur had all the knights together for to just in the meadow be- 
side Camelot, or they departed in search of the Holy Grail. 

" Now/' said the king, " I am sure at this quest of the sancgreall, 
shall all ye of the round table depart, and never shall I see you again 
whole together, therefore I will see you all whole together in the 
medow of Camelot, for to just and to turney, that after your death men 
may speak of it, that such good knights were wholly together such a 
day." But all the meaning of the king was to see Sir Galahad proved, 
for the king deemed hee should not lightly come again e unto the court 
after his departing. And the queene was in a tower with all her ladies 
for to behold that turnement. 

Of the great lamentation that the f aire made of Astolat made when Sir Laun- 
celot should depart, and how she died for his love. 

. . . And then she called her father, Sir Bernard, and her brother, 
Sir Tirre, and heartily she prayed her father that her brother might 
write a letter like as she would endite it. And when the letter was 
written word by word like shee had devised, then she prayed her father 
that she might be watched untill she were dead. "And while my 
body is whole, let this letter be put into my right hand, bound fast with 
the letter untill that I be cold, and let me be put in a faire bed with all 
the richest clothes that I have about me, and so let my bed and all my 
rich clothes be 1 aide with me in a barge, and but one man with me, 
such as ye trust to steere me thither, and that my barge be covered with 
black samite over and over." Then her father and brother made great 
dole, for when this was done, anon shee died. And so the corpse and 
the bed and all was led the next way unto the Thamse, and there a man 



40 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



and the corps and all were put in a barge on the Thamse, and the man 
steered the barge to Westminster. 

So by fortune king Arthur and queene Guenivere were speaking to- 
gether at a window ; and so as they looked at the Tharnse, they espied 
the black barge, and had marvaile what it might meane. . . . And then 
the king took the queene by the hand, and went thither. Then the 
king made the barge to be holden fast; and then the king and the 
queene went in, and ther they saw a faire gentlewoman lying in a rich 
bed, and covered with rich clothes, and all was of cloth of gold ; and 
shee lay as though she had smiled. Then the queene espied the letter 
in the right hand, and told the king thereof. Then the king brake it 
open, and bade a clarke to reade it. . . . Then was Sir Launcelot sent 
for, and king Arthur made the letter to be red to him. And Sir Laun- 
celot said, " My lord king Arthur, wit you well that I am right heavy 
of the death of this faire damosell ; God knoweth I was never causer 
of her death, by my will, and that I will report mee unto her owne 
brother, here hee is, Sir Lavaine. She was bothe faire and good, and 
much I was beholden to her, but she loved me out of measure." . . . 
Then said the king to Sir Launcelot, " It will be your worship that you 
oversee that shee bee buried worshipfully." " Sir," said Sir Launcelot, 
" that shall be done as I can best devise." And on the morrow shee 
was richly buried. 

Syllabus. 

After Chaucer no great poet appeared in England for a hundred and fifty 
years. The period was one of great events, however void of literary pro- 
ductions. The principal events were the Invention of Printing (1438), 
The breaking up of the Eastern Empire (1453), The Discovery of America 
(1492), The beginning of the Reformation (1517). 

It was the period of the Revival of Learning — the Renaissance. Poetry 
was left in the hands of the unlearned. Ballad poetry was the result. 
There were more poets of note in Scotland than in England. James I. of 
Scotland was the most celebrated poet of the fifteenth century. Surrey 
and Wyatt were polishers of English verse. 

Sir Thomas More was the most distinguished prose writer of the time. 
His principal work was the Utopia, written in Latin. 

The art of printing was introduced into England by William Caxton. 

The legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table were 
collected by Sir Thomas Malory (1470). 

William Tyndale translated the New Testament (1525), for which he 
was burned at Antwerp, by order of Henry VIII. Other translations fol- 
lowed by order of the arbitrary king. 




SHAKESPEARE. 



CHAPTER V. 

OO^OO 

The Elizabethan Period. 

1558—1649. 

THE Elizabethan or the G-olden Age of English Literature 
is embraced within the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and 
Charles L, beginning about the middle of Elizabeth's reign, 
reaching its meridian splendor in the reign of her successor, 
and gradually declining with the reign of Charles I. It was 
the culmination of the forces of the preceding age. New dis- 
coveries had opened new mines of thought and enterprise ; the 
knowledge accumulated in the age just ended was assimilated 
in this, and as getting learning had been the fashion of the pre- 
ceding age, appearing learned was the fashion of this. The 
fact that all three of the sovereigns encouraged literature, and 
that Elizabeth and James were both ambitious of literary dis- 
tinction, were incentives to their followers, and literary pursuits 
became the fashion of the day. 

The political condition of England was favorable to the pro- 
duction of literature. Never before had the nation been so 
prosperous. Never before had a sovereign selected wiser and 
more judicious counsellors than those by whom Elizabeth sur- 
rounded herself. Wisdom and moderation characterized the 
reign. The terrible ordeal of "turn or burn," the watchword 
in Mary's time, was transmuted into an ordinance of peace and 
toleration. Wealth and prosperity flowed into the kingdom ; 
intellectual labor was rewarded, and intellectual recreations 
demanded. The old institution of chivalry had left enough of 
4* 41 



42 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



its genuine spirit to tinge the age with the love of romance and 
adventure, and to produce such knights as Ealeigh and Sidney, 
while the classical learning of the preceding century gave a 
solid basis for the glow of imaginative genius in this. 

It was an age not only of literary advancement, but of prog- 
ress in refinement of every kind. Various improvements in 
household arrangements crept in.* Less attention, however, 
seems to have been given to domestic and genuine home com- 
forts than to exterior display and ornamentation. The three 
thousand dresses of the Queen serve to indicate the luxury and 
extravagance of the time. Brilliancy in everything character- 
ized the age. Kot a courtier but would have thrown his velvet 
cloak over the mud, as Sir Walter Ealeigh did, for Elizabeth's 
dainty foot to pass over. They lived an ideal and unreal life. 
All the world to them was, indeed, a stage, and the men and 
women merely players. Genuine feeling was displaced by 
feigned passions, and earnest living by unreal acting. 

It was an age of imagination, and we are not surprised at the 
character of the literature. When pageantries and brilliant 
displays found most favor with the Queen, what wonder that 
the Drama should be the prevailing literature of the day, and 
that the dramatists should exceed in number all other writers 
of the age. 

The three great names of the Elizabethan period are Shake- 
speare, Spenser, and Bacon. Shakespeare, the greatest 
dramatist, if not the greatest literary genius the world has ever 
seen ; Spenser, the second of England's great non-dramatic 
poets ; and Bacon, the first of philosophers who urged utility 
as the end of scientific investigations. Any one of these great 
names would have distinguished an age ; but, surrounding 
these three, were innumerable brilliant writers, all aglow with 
the kindled enthusiasm for literature. The theatre, the court, 
and the church afforded the chief stimulus to literary genius. 



* It was not until the reign of James I. that forks were used to eat with. Soon 
after, tables with leaves were used, and the salt became the dividing line at table be- 
tween the aristocracy and common people, the latter being seated below the salt. 
Before this time, the dais, or raised platform, had separated the two classes in the 
dining-hall. After the middle of the seventeenth century the hall itself ceases to 
be mentioned as the chief room of the house. 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



43 



Fulness characterized the poetry of the age, and long poems 
were the rule. The author had no fear of wearying the reader. 
Books were a new source of entertainment, and were eagerly 
devoured by the enthusiastic readers. No great poet had ap- 
peared since Chaucer, though a hundred and fifty years had 
elapsed. When, therefore, Spenser's Faerie Queen and Shep- 
herd's Calendar appeared, it was an era in the literary world. 

Edmukd Spenser (1553-1599), the second of England's great 
poets, was born in London. Though of humble circumstances, 
he boasted "gentle blood," and was ambitious of court favors. 
Through his friends, Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Philip Sidney, 
he was introduced to courtly circles, and gained the patronage 
of the Queen. He was commissioned with some public trust in 
Ireland, which obliged him to reside there. Here, at Kilcolman 
Castle, he wrote his famous poem, The Faerie Queen, dedicated 
to Elizabeth, and typifying the Queen and her splendid reign. 
Finding herself so magnificently reflected in its pages, Elizabeth 
was delighted with the poem. It pleased, likewise, the chivalric 
tastes of her courtiers, and became instantly popular. The 
poem consists of six books. The intention had been to write 
twelve. 

Like other great minds of his own and of every age, Spenser 
conceived a project which, a lifetime was insufficient to realize. 
The twelve books were designed to represent twelve virtues, 
each portrayed in the person of a knight. The Queen of Fairy 
Land holds a twelve days' feast. Each of the allegorical knights 
sets out on an adventure to conquer some error at strife with 
the virtue which he personifies. The First Book tells the story 
of the Bed Cross Knight, the type of Holiness, and also of the 
Church of England ; the Second Book relates the history of 
Sir Gruyon, the personification of Temperance ; the Third of 
Britomartis, or of Chastity ; the Fourth Book treats of Friend- 
ship ; the Fifth of Justice, and the Sixth of Courtesy. King 
Arthur is the hero and connecting-link throughout, and in 
himself embraces all the virtues. The knight-errant spirit of 
the subject suited Spenser's fertile imagination, and although 
the allegory is less pleasing than the old Celtic myth of Arthur, 
the rich imagination of Spenser has clothed the whole with 
undying splendor. The several allegorical characters, besides 



44 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



representing virtues, are intended to personate historic charac- 
ters. The Faerie Queen symbolizes Elizabeth herself ; the 
envious Duessa, the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, and 
also the Catholic Church ; while the Eed Cross Knight typi- 
fies the Church of England, or Holiness, also the patron St. 
George. 

The student of the English language may be surprised at the 
antiquated diction of Spenser, when the language had so far 
progressed at the time in which he wrote. The poet himself 
best accounts for it. He delighted in Chaucer and Piers Plow- 
man, and his sympathetic, impressive nature imbibed the very 
spirit of those old masters, and found expression in their lan- 
guage. 

In defence of his style he says, speaking of himself in the 
third person : — 

" And having the sound of those auncient poets still ringing in his 
eares, he mought needes in singing hit out some of their tunes." 

Besides the Faerie Queen, Spenser wrote The ShephercVs Cal- 
endar, and many minor poems, the most beautiful of which is 
the Epithalamium, a marriage hymn. Mother Hubbard's Tale 
is a satire on certain classes of the clergy. Spenser's chief 
prose work, entitled A View of the State of Ireland, shows his 
policy in the government of that oppressed nation. By his 
advocacy of arbitrary power he became unpopular with the 
Irish, and soon after Tyrone's rebellion, an insurrection broke 
out in Munster, and Kilcolman Castle was burned to the 
ground, It is said that Spenser's youngest child perished in 
the flames. The poet returned to London and in three months 
afterward died. He was buried in "Westminster Abbey, near 
the tomb of Chaucer. 

After the reign of James I. , poetry began to decline. 

In the latter part of the period a French influence began to prevail 
in literature, as in the court. The wife of Charles I., Queen Henrietta, 
was the daughter of the King of France, and French models in litera- 
ture, as in everything else, began to take the place of the Italian, which 
had so long prevailed. The poems of the court of Charles I. were, for 
the most part, short love songs, the taste of the day rejecting the long 
poems in which the court of Elizabeth delighted. The poems of Her- 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



45 



rick, Carew, Lovelace, and Suckling have the exuberant, lively 
French spirit. 

The Drama. 

As early as the eleventh century we hear of the Miracle 
Plays, which were, for the most part, representations of Bible 
scenes. The favorite subjects were the Creation, the Deluge, 
and the Crucifixion. The actors were priests or monks, assisted 
frequently by the Merry Minstrels. It was the means taken by 
the Church to instruct the ignorant in Bible history and in the 
tenets of the Christian faith. 

The plays were usually performed in churches, or in rude 
buildings adapted to the purpose, and sometimes in the open 
air. The first or ground floor of a building represented hell, 
the second floor this world, and the highest story heaven. 
The Devil was a prominent character, being chief comedian, 
appearing always with the traditional horns and hoofs. 

The comic element was displayed even in these old Bible 
traditions. Thus in the play of the Deluge, Xoah's wife 
refuses to enter the ark. IN'oah resorts to extreme measures, 
and silences her scolding and opposition by beating her. 

The Moral Plays, which succeeded the Mysteries, were a 
doubtful improvement upon the latter. They were allegorical 
representations of moral qualities — impersonations of Vice and 
Virtue, Mercy, Justice, etc. The Moralities were shorter-lived 
than the old Mysteries, which may be easily inferred from 
their lack of human interest : to keep them alive for a short 
time, it was found necessary to retain the horned comedian of 
the Miracle Plays. The Devil and the Vice were the humor- 
ous personages of the stage. Prom the Vice of the Moral 
Plays, "the fool " of the succeeding drama sprang. 

Soon the demands for representations from actual life pushed 
from the stage the old Moralities, and a lighter species of dra- 
matic performance was invented, styled the Interlude. 
This was in the time of Henry VIII. 

The first writer of Interludes was John Heywood 

( 1565), or "Merry John Heywood," as he was styled. 

He was a great favorite with Henry VIII. , and also with Mary. 
The Interlude was the first step towards the English comedy. 



46 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



It was a species of farce, its characters drawn from real life. 
It was called an Interlude because it was played in the intervals 
of some festivity — originally in the midst of a long Moral Play 
—for the amusement of wearied spectators. 

The best known interlude of Hey wood's is called the Four 
P's. It represents a dispute between a Palmer,* a Pardoner,! 
a Poticary,J and a Pedlar, and ends in their trying to see which 
can tell the greatest lie. The Palmer is considered victorious 
when he says, speaking of the distant lands through which he 
has travelled : — 

" Yet have I seen many a mile, 
And many a woman in the while; 
And not one good city, town, or borough, 
In Christendom but I've been thorough: 
And this I would ye should understand, 
I have seen women five hundred thousand, 
Yet in all places where I have been, 
Of all the women that I have seen, 
I never saw nor knew on my conscience, 
Any one woman out of patience ! " 

Unwillingly the other P's yield the palm to this narrator, 
who has excelled them in the "'most ancient and notable art 
of lying." 

The first comedy in the language was written by Nicholas 
Udall (1506-1604), about the middle of the sixteenth century, 
or near the time of Elizabeth's accession to the throne, and 
was called Balph Boyster Doyster. 

Kalph, the hero, is a blustering, vain fellow, in mad pursuit of a rich 
widow, whom he does not obtain. The language, though not polished, 
is not indecent, and probably represents the rustic manners of the time. 
" Tibet Talkapace," one of the rich widow's servants, thus congratulates 
herself on the approaching marriage of her mistress to " a rich man 
and gay." 

" And we shall go in our French hoodes every day, 
In our silk cassocks I warrant you, fresh and gay, 



* One who visits holy shrines, and, on his return, bears a branch of palm as a token, 
f One who sold pardons or indulgences, licensed by the pope. 
X Apothecary. 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



47 



Then shall ye see, Tibet, sires, treade the mosse so trimme, 
Kay, why said I treade ? ye shall see her glide and swimme, — 
Not lumperdee, cluruperdee, like our spaniell Kig." 

The first English tragedy was called Ferrex and Porrex or 
Gorboduc. It was written by Sackvllle* and Norton, and 
was played before Elizabeth a few years after her accession. 
The story was based on an old British legend, found in the 
chronicles of Geoffrey of Monmouth. 

Following in the list of dramatic writers, were Peele, Nash, Kyd, 
Lyly, Greexe, and Marlowe, antedating by a few years only the 
appearance of Shakespeare. Grouped around this central luminary 
were still others of various magnitude. There were Bex Joxsox, 
Beaumoxt and Fletcher,! Massixger, Chapmax, Webster, Mid- 
dletox, Marstox, Ford, Thomas Heywood, Dekker, Kowley, 
Lodge, and the last of the Elizabethan dramatists, James Shirley. 

Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593), or, as he was often called, 
Kit Marlowe, was the most brilliant of the dramatists before Shake- 
speare. 

The lives of these writers present a series of struggles for a bare 
existence. They did not write for fame — they seem simply to have 
offered themselves as sacrifices to the spirit of the age, and died, many 
of them, of poverty and neglect. 

Although Elizabeth was very fond of plays, it is not at all improbable 
that she encouraged them somewhat with the aim of opposing the Puri- 
tan spirit which condemned such amusements. Be that as it may, play- 
going was the chief entertainment of the time. It served for the news- 
paper, magazine, and novel of the present day. 

Blackfriars was the first theatre built in London, and before thirty 
years had elapsed there were eighteen.J 



* Thomas Sackville (1536-1608), author of The Mirror for Magistrates. 

f The names of Francis Beaumont (1586-1616) and John Fletcher (1576-1625) 
are inseparably connected in literature. Associated by the warmest ties of friend- 
ship, they labored jointly in the production of their dramatic works. So close was 
their literary partnership, that it is not easy to distinguish the respective productions 
of these two writers. That Beaumont had more tragic genius, and Fletcher more of 
the comic humor, is generally conceded. 

X At an early hour in the afternoon the signal for assembling was given, by the 
hoisting of a flag from the roof of the theatre. These buildings were constructed of 
wood, and were of a circular form, and uncovered, except by a thatched roof extend- 
ing over the stage. The Queen and her retinue sometimes occupied seats below the 
gallery, and sometimes upon the stage, where the gay courtiers lounged upon the 



48 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



With scarcely an exception, all the dramatists participated in the 
acting of their own plays. Shakespeare, it is said, played the " Ghost " in 
Hamlet, and "Adain " in As You Like It. 

The influence of John Lyi,y (1553-1600) upon the language 
of Elizabeth's time was probably greater than that of any 
other writer. His phi/ys, nine in number, are of comparatively 
small account. He is known to the literary world by his story 
of Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit, and Euphues and his Eng- 
land. This work so affected the language of the court and 
of literature, that only a few — the strongest minds — remained 
uninjured by its influence. Although forced, artificial, and 
pedantic in the extreme, the style became so popular that not 
to be able to discourse in it was to lack one of the most fashion- 
able court accomplishments. The romance of Euphues first 
appeared in 1579, and its influence lasted throughout Eliza- 
beth's reign, and indeed much longer.* 

The style consisted of overdrawn analogies and forced an- 
titheses. Intended as a garb of wit, it became a mere distor- 
tion of language. The fashion was admirably burlesqued by 
Shakespeare in the fantastical Spaniard, ;, Don Adriano de Ar- 
mado," in Love's Labor Lost. 



rush-strewn floor, while their pages supplied them with pipes of tobacco, that new 
article of luxury introduced by Sir Walter Ealeigh. 

The furnishing of the stage was meagre. There were no illusions of movable 
scenery, but when the place of action was to be changed, a board containing the 
name of the place was exhibited. 

No woman ever acted upon the stage until nearly half a century after Shakespeare's 
time. All the female characters were represented by youths and delicate-looking 
young men. 

* Sir Henry Blount, a courtier in the time of Charles I., says in his preface to 
Lyly's works, "Our nation is in debt for a new English which he taught them. 
Euphues and his England began first that language ; all our ladies were then his 
scholars; and that beauty in court which could not parley Euphuism— that is to say, 
who was unable to converse in that pure and reformed English which he had formed 
his work to be the standard of— was as little regarded as she which now, there, 
speaks not French." 

The story of Euphues is of a young Athenian who visits Italy, and there, reject- 
ing the wholesome counsel of an old gentleman in Naples, who, " seeing his mirth 
without measure, yet not without wit, began to bewail his Nurture, and to muse at 
his Nature." "But," he reflects, " it hath been an olde sayde sawe, and not of lesse 
truth than antiquity, that wit is the better if it be deare bought." 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



49 



SHAKESPEARE. 

Of the life of William Shakespeare (1564-1616), the great- 
est of all writers, we know comparatively little. It is easy and 
pleasant to conjecture, and many stories are told of his life 
which may or may not be true. 

He was born, it is said, on the 23d of April, 1564, at Strat- 
ford, a rural village in the heart of England, on the little stream 
of Avon. Here for several generations his ancestors had lived 
as worthy and respectable farmers. Shakespeare's father was 
high-bailiff, or mayor of the town, and was in comfortable cir- 
cumstances. He had married Mary Arden, an heiress, whose 
ancestors had played a conspicuous part in the old wars of Eng- 
land. The poet was one of ten children. What course in life his 
parents had laid out for him we do not know. That he was not 
sent to Oxford or Cambridge we have tolerably clear evidence, 
but we can imagine him " with his satchel and shining morning 
face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school," over the hills 
of Warwickshire and through the u forest of Arden," finding 
u tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in 
stones, and good in everything." 

The love of pageantry and show was not confined to London or to 
the court, but remote villages like Stratford held their merry-making 
festivals, and when the players from London would come up to that 
quiet little town, it is not difficult to imagine the delight with which 
they were followed by the boy, William Shakespeare. Probably he 
was permitted to witness the gay performances at Kenilworth Castle 
not far away from Stratford, where Leicester entertained the Queen with 
such pomp and magnificence. 

Surrounding Stratford were other small villages, and one, 
called Shottery, was often visited by the youthful Shakespeare, 
for here lived the idol of his heart, Anne Hathaway.* 

* ANNE HATHAWAY. 

[Attributed to Shakespeare, and originally addressed, " To the idol of my eyes and de- 
light of my heart.'"] 

Would ye be taught, ye feathered throng, 
With love's sweet notes to grace your song 

* The authorship is not clearly ascertained, 

5 D 



50 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



When Shakespeare was eighteen and Anne Hathaway twenty- 
five they were married. Three children were born to them, 
Susannah, Hamnet, and Judith. 

Shakespeare, four years after his marriage, went to London. 
Various stories are told of his life here, but for six years after 

To pierce the heart with thrilling lay, 
Listen to mine Anne f Hathaway ! — 
She hath a way to sing so clear, 
Phoebus might, wondering, stop to hear, — 
To melt the sad, make blithe the gay, 
And nature charm, Anne hath a way ; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway ; 
To breathe delight, Anne hath a way. 

When Envy's breath and rancorous tooth 

Do soil and bite fair worth and truth, 

And merit to distress betray, 

To soothe the heart Anne hath a way. 

She hath a way to chase despair, 

To heal all grief, to cure all care, 

Turn foulest night to fairest day, 

Thou know'st, fond heart, Anne hath a way ; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway ; 
To make grief bliss, Anne hath a way. 

Talk not of gems, the orient list — 
The diamond, topaz, amethyst, 
The emerald mild, the ruby gay, — 
Talk of my gem, Anne Hathaway ; 
She hath a way, with her bright eye, 
The various lustres to defy ; 
The jewel she— and the foil they— 
So sweet to look Anne hath away; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway; 
To shame bright gems Anne hath a way. 

But were it to my fancy given 

To rate her charms, I 'd call them heaven ; 

For though a mortal made of clay, 

Angels must love Anne Hathaway ; 

She hath a way so to control, 

To rapture the imprisoned soul, 

And sweetest heaven on earth display, 

That to be heaven Anne hath a way ; 

She hath a way, 

Anne Hathaway; 
To be heaven's self Anne hath a way! 
* Anne is pronounced Ann. 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



51 



he left Stratford there are no records of his actions. When he 
next flashes upon us he is dazzling the London world with his 
brilliant genius. The numerous play-writers who had before 
this been found sufficient to entertain the Queen and her cour- 
tiers now became jealous of this superior genius. Greene said 
to his fellow play -writers : 

" There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that, with his 
tiger's heart wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to 
bombast out a blank verse as the best of you ; and, being an absolute 
Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a 
country." 

At this time Blackfriars was the only theatre in London, and of this 
Shakespeare soon became manager. When the Globe theatre was 
started on the opposite side of the Thames, Shakespeare became mana- 
ger and proprietor of that also. He acquired wealth, and after a long 
connection with the stage he retired to Stratford, where he had pur- 
chased a large estate and built a stately mansion, known as "New 
Place." Hither he brought his parents to spend their declining days, 
and here, surrounded by his family, he wrote his last plays. He died 
on his fifty-second birthday, the 23d of April, 1616, and was buried at 
the little church in Stratford. As if to seal forever to an inquiring 
world all that was known of Shakespeare, over his grave was placed a 
tablet with the following forbidding inscription : 

" Good friend, for Jesvs sake forbeare 
To digg the dvst encloased heare; 
Bleste be ye man yt spares these stones, 
And cvrst be he yt moves my bones." 

" New Place," his last residence, is demolished, but the house 
in which Shakespeare was born still stands in Stratford, witJi 
various relics of the daily life of its early occupants. 

To Ben Jonson, a brother dramatist of Shakespeare's, we are indebted 
for many hints concerning the life of the great poet and dramatist. 
Jonson in his honest fashion says : " I loved the man, and do honor to 
his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was, indeed, 
honest, and of an open and free nature : had an excellent fancy, brave 
notions, and gentle expressions ; wherein he flowed with that facility that 
sometimes it was necessary to be stopped. His wit was in his own power ; 
would the rule of it had been so too ! But he redeemed his vices with 
his virtues ; there was ever more in him to be praised than pardoned." 



52 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Spenser's praise of Shakespeare is even more appreciative of 
his intellectual qualities : 

" And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made 
To mock herself and Truth to imitate." 

Jonson and Spenser are the only writers of Shakespeare's 
time who seemed to have in any degree appreciated the great 
genius among them. He lived too close upon the time for the 
mass of the people to appreciate or see his greatness. 

His first poems were not dramatic, but, from the teeming 
imagination which they display, might, of themselves, have 
given him high rank in the literature of that day. But his 
wonderful dramas so far surpassed his poems that the latter 
have almost escaped the notice of the general reader. His 
sonnets, a hundred and fifty-four in number, seem to have been 
the receptacle of his more sacred personal feelings, but what 
phase of his life's history they express is unknown. Their 
tone is almost invariably sad. 

His first dramatic writings were historic, or, rather, they 
consisted of the recasting of old plays of a historic nature, 
many of them taken from the less skilful hands of his brother 
dramatists.* 

Shakespeare's plays cannot be classed under the distinct 
heads of Tragedies and Comedies. Hamlet, King Lear, and 
Macbeth are tragedies founded on semi-historical subjects ; Much 
Ado About Nothing and Taming of the Shrew are distinctly 
comedies ; others are a mingling of the tragic and comic ele- 
ments. The plays founded upon purely historic subjects are 
King John, Bichard II., Henry IV., Henry V., Henry VI., 
Bichard III, and Henry VIII. 

The sources from which Shakespeare obtained material for 
his plays are numerous. The historians Holinshedf and Hall J 



* Hence Greene's complaint of the" upstart crow" who had appeared among them 
" beautified with (their) feathers," though, in fact, Shakespeare had simply beautified 
their feathers. He cared lit^e who should have the glory of the work, for none of 
all the exceedingly careless dramatists of that day were more careless of fame than 
he. Not a single original manuscript of any of his works remains ; not a sonnet or 
a letter, even, in the handwriting of Shakespeare. Nothing but his will remains in 
manuscript. 

f Ralph Holinshed, 1580. $ Edward Hall, 1499-1547. 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



53 



seem to have furnished his historic information, while many of 
his plays derived from fictional sources are based upon old 
chronicles, Italian romances, and older plays. 

The first edition of Shakespeare's works, known as the Folio 
edition, was made in 1623, by Heminge and Condell. In this 
edition is prefixed a tribute of praise from Ben Jonson, from 
which the following quotations are frequently made : 

"Soule of the age, 
The applause! delight! the wonder of the stage. 

****** 
Thou art a moniment without a tombe. 

* # * * * * 

How far thou didst our Lily outshine 
Or sporting Kid, or Marlowe's mighty line. 
And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, 
From thence to honor thee, I would not seek 
For names, but call forth thundering ^Eschilus, 
Euripides, and Sophocles to us. 

****** 

He was not for an age, but for all time, 
And all the Muses still were in their prime, 

* * * * * * 
For a great Poet's made as well as borne. 

****** 
Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were 
To see thee in our waters yet appear, 
And make those flights upon the banks of Thames 
That so did take Eliza and our James." 

****** 

The death of Shakespeare left Ben Jonson (1573-1637) sov- 
ereign of the English stage. He had all the learning which 
Shakespeare is said to have lacked. He was, indeed, the most 
learned dramatist of the age, and did more than any other to 
give to the drama its proper direction. Without the genius of 
Shakespeare, he possessed a vigorous mind, and labored indus- 
triously in his vocation. A fine classical scholar, he tried to 
make the English drama conform to the rules of the Greek 
dramatists. His style is heavy, and shows study and labor. 
Nothing is spontaneous, as in Shakespeare or Beaumont and 
Fletcher. 
5* 



54 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Jonson's first original play was Every Man in his Humor. Following 
in rapid succession, came Every Man out of his Humor, Cynthia's Revels, 
The Poetaster, and Eastward Hoe. 

Jonson succeeded Daniel as poet-laureate, and was appointed by the 
court to superintend the performance of Masques,* which, under his 
careful guidance, were brought to the highest state of perfection. Of the 
fifty dramatic pieces composed by Ben J onson, thirty-five were Masques 
and Court Entertainments. In his last work, a pastoral drama called The 
Sad Shepherd, some of the finest of his poetic fancies are displayed. Jon- 
son's two classic tragedies are The Fall of Sej anus and Catiline's Conspiracy. 
His principal comedies were, Every Man in his Humor, Volpone, Epicoene, 
or The Silent Woman, and The Alchemist. 

Jonson was buried in Westminster Abbey. A plain slab was 
placed upon his grave, on which was inscribed, 

"O rare Ben Jonson." 

The Elizabethan drama ends with James Shikley (1594- 
1666). In 1642, at the breaking out of the Civil War, the thea- 
tres were closed, and in 164S an act of Parliament was passed 
making all theatrical performances illegal. This ordinance 
remained in force until the restoration, in 1660. f 

Prose Writers of the Elizabethan Period. 
FRANCIS BACON. 

The prose literature of Elizabeth's time was as exuberant in 
expression and almost as rich in fancy as poetry itself. 

* These entertainments were a species of dramatic performance much in favor at 
this time. They consisted of songs, dialogues, and dancing, and were always per- 
formed by the lords and ladies of the court, frequently the King and Queen taking 
part. These Masques were brilliant in costumes and scenery, and were generally 
performed in honor of some great event in the royal household. The arrangement 
of these court entertainments was the duty of the poet-laureate. Some of Jonson's 
most poetic fancies are contained in his Masques. 

f To sum up the characteristics of the Elizabethan dramatists in the language of 
Mr. E. P. Whipple : " They are all intensely and audaciously human. Taking them 
in the mass, they have much to offend our artistic and shock our moral sense ; but 
the dramatic literature of the world would be searched in vain for another instance 
of so broad and bold a representation of the varieties of human nature — one in which 
the conventional restraints both on depravity and excellence are so resolutely set 
aside — one in which the many-charactered soul of man is so vividly depicted, in its 
weakness and in its strength, in its mirth and in its passion, in the appetites which 
sink it below the beasts that perish, in the aspirations which lift it to regions of 
existence of which the visible heavens are but the veil." 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



55 



Francis Bacon (1561-1626) was bora at York House, a 
stately mansion in London. His father, Sir Nicholas Bacon, 
was Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of England, and his mother 
was one of the most brilliant women in the court of Elizabeth. 
The boy was trained to courtly magnificence, and early learned 
to reverence crowned heads. He was a born and bred courtier, 
and his reply to Elizabeth, when a boy of twelve, on being 
asked his age, "I am two years younger than your Majesty's 
happy reign," was the language and the feeling to which he 
was accustomed. At thirteen he was sent to Cambridge, and 
from this period his intellectual career is dated. 

Notwithstanding the progress of learning in this age and the 
preceding, the study of actual science had made no advance 
whatever. At Cambridge and Oxford the old scholastic philos- 
ophy of the Middle Ages still prevailed, which was not the 
philosophy of Aristotle, but an adaptation of his methods to the 
creeds of the Church in the earlier stages of Christianity. 

The youth, Francis Bacon, felt the barrenness of this " phil- 
osophy of words," and early set to work to form methods of 
investigation that would result in some definite knowledge for 
the benefit of mankind. The method of "induction," or the 
inferring of a general truth from the examination of particular 
facts leading up to it, was not original with Bacon, for the old 
Greek philosophers had been familiar with the method, but he 
demonstrated its use to the seventeenth century. He believed 
that by it " nature could be compelled to yield her secrets " to 
the searcher after truth. 

Disappointed in the means of pursuing his studies, he was 
obliged, in his own words, "to think how to live instead of 
living only to think. " He turned his attention to the law, and, 
baffled in his desire to become " the minister and interpreter of 
nature," he bent his powerful mind to his own political advance- 
ment, becoming successively Privy Councillor, Lord Keeper, 
and finally Lord High Chancellor of England, receiving with 
the last honor the title of Baron Yerulam, and soon after that 
of Viscount St. Albans. 

This rapid advancement was in the reign of James I., and it 
is a humiliating fact that it was mainly obtained by condescen- 
sions on the part of the great man to the base spirit of the time 



56 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



— to unscrupulous acquiescence in the wishes and schemes of 
the King's favorite, Buckingham. For six years no Parlia- 
ment had been called, and during this time corruptions were 
increasing. The Lord High Chancellor was not only conscious 
of their existence, but participated in them, and although in 
possession of a princely revenue, he added to his fortune by the 
acceptance of bribes. 

Parliament met, and in 1621 accused Bacon of corruption in 
the high office he held. He plead guilty to the charge in these 
words : " I do plainly and ingenuously confess that I am guilty 
of corruption, and do renounce all defence. I beseech your 
lordships to be merciful to a broken reed." Like Wolsey, his 
high-blown pride at length broke under him. He was declared 
incapable of public office, was sentenced to a fine of £40,000, 
and to an imprisonment during the pleasure of the King. The 
sentence, however, was remitted, and after two days' imprison- 
ment in the Tower he was set at liberty, and the fine was trans- 
muted into a pension of £1200 a year ! 

It was during Bacon's political life that he wrote The Ad- 
vancement of Learning, The Novum Organum, and the Wisdom 
of the Ancients, the first two being parts of his great work, the 
Instauration of the Sciences. The year after his fall from power 
he produced another part of his great work, and still it re- 
mained uncompleted. 

It was the work that Bacon planned to do, rather than the 
work he accomplished, which shows his greatness. His com- 
prehensive mind conceived a project so vast that a lifetime was 
not sufficient to execute it. He a took all knowledge for his 
province." 

Bacon's Essays were his first published works. These were 
written in English, and show a mastery of thought and diction. 
Not elaborate in style, as the writings of others of his time, 
but the reverse. All had been elaborated in his own mind, and 
came forth crystallized and perfect, the greatest possible con- 
densation of thought. He expresses himself by symbols, as 
when he says, "Riches are the baggage of virtue — the impede- 
menta. " Not only are his Essays written in this epigrammatic 
style, but most of his scientific works. His Novum Organum is 
a succession of aphorisms. It was his theory that all works of 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



57 



science should be expressed in this manner, and certainly all 
truths find more forcible utterance in the brief, condensed sen- 
tence, showing energetic, vigorous thought. 

Bacon's Essays abound in moral precepts, and form a strange 
discrepancy with the example of his life, as we see it. The 
Essays are short — some of them would not fill an ordinary 
page — but all of them are models of thought and expression. 
He had the soul of a poet, and it was the poet's imagination 
which led him into his scientific questionings. His Essay on 
Adversity is the essence of poetry. 

At the close of the second book on the Advancement of Learn- 
ing, he says : 

"And now looking back upon that I have passed through, this writ- 
ing seemeth to me not much better than the noise or sound which mu- 
sicians make while they are tuning their instruments, which is nothing 
pleasant to hear, but yet is a cause why the music is sweeter afterwards. 
So have I been content to tune the instruments of the muses, that they 
may play that have better hands." 

Most of Bacon's works were written in Latin, the curious 
idea existing that that language was to supersede the English. 
This was owing, doubtless, to the prevailing enthusiasm for the 
study of the classic languages. An evidence of this belief may 
be seen in the following letter of Bacon to his translator. It was 
concerning his work entitled the Advancement of Learning, which 
had been written originally in the English language. He says : 

a Wherefore, as I have only taken upon me to ring a bell to bring 
other wits together, it cannot but be consonant to my desire to have that 
bell heard as far as can be. And, therefore, the privateness of the lan- 
guage considered in which it is written, excluding so many readers, I 
must account it a second birth of that work, if it might be translated 
into Latin, without manifest loss of the sense and matter." 

Besides the works already named, Bacon wrote a History of 
Henry VII. , also a work entitled Felicities of Queen Elizabeth's 
Reign, and a philosophical romance called the New Atlantis. 

After Bacon's humiliation he retired to private life — to study 
and investigate. But his habits of extravagance clung to him 
to the last, and although he received a yearly income of £2500, 
at his death his personal debts were more than £22,000. He 



58 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



died, it is supposed, a victim to scientific investigation, com- 
paring himself to the elder Pliny. In his will this prophetic 
passage occurs : u My name and memory I leave to foreign na- 
tions, and to mine own country, ivhen some time be passed over." 

The life of Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586) has been of more inter- 
est and more benefit to the world than his writings. That short life of 
thirty-two years taught to succeeding generations the meaning of the 
terms, " true knight " and " gentleman." * 

His literary works are The Arcadia, The Defence of Poesy, and Sonnets. 
His prose is somewhat affected with the fashionable Euphuistic style, 
but its quaintness is melodious.f 

Sir Walter Kaleigh (1552-1618), the friend of Sidney and of 
Spenser, was one of the brilliant luminaries of Elizabeth's court. His life 
was as eventful as that of any fancied knight in Spenser's Faerie Queen. 
His fame, however, belongs rather to the political than to the literary his- 
tory of England. He wrote A History of the World, and a few poems.J 

* He defined a gentleman as one having "high erected thoughts seated in a heart 
of courtesy," and exemplified it in his life. Even his last act was one of self-denial, 
and though the story has been so often told, it is one that will bear repeating. Eng- 
gland was assisting the Netherlands to throw off the yoke of Spain, and Sidney had 
been sent as general of the horse. At the battle of Zutphen he bore himself man- 
fully, and his deeds of valor would have placed his name high on the roll of heroes; 
but it is to no warlike deed, but to one of Christian charity, that his admirers revert 
with fondest memory. Mortally wounded on the battle-field, he begged for water to 
allay his feverish thirst. As the cooling draught was being lifted to his lips, he saw 
a poor, dying soldier carried past, who looked longingly at the water. Sidney, seeing 
the eager look, said, " Take it. Thy necessity is greater than mine." 

f Cowper styles Sidney " a warbler of poetic prose." 

X A genuine courtier, he established himself forever in Elizabeth's favor by throw- 
ing his velvet cloak over the mud in her pathway, and little occurred to disturb his 
serenity until James's accession to the throne. Then Raleigh's troubles began. 
Accused of treason, he was condemned to die, but was afterwards reprieved and 
sent to the Tower for an imprisonment of twelve years. During this time he em- 
ployed his ever active genius in writing one of the most remarkable works of the 
age— A History of the World. 

Released from prison, this admirable adventurer was sent in search of gold to fill 
the depleted coffers of King James. Returning, he was again thrown into prison on 
an unwarrantable pretext, and soon after was executed on the old charge of treason. 
His dignified behavior on the scaffold has often been told. Taking the axe from the 
executioner, and running his fingers along its keen edge, he exclaimed, "It is a sharp 
medicine, but it cures all diseases." Then laying his head upon the block, he said, 
" It matters little which way the head lies, so the heart be right."* 

* Much of Raleigh's time in prison was spent in the study of alchemy, in pursuit of the 
philosopher's stone, which search was still in vogue at that time. 



THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



59 



In Theology, the greatest writer of the Elizabethan age was 
Richard Hooker (1553-1600), whose great work, The Ecclesias- 
tical Polity, is one of the masterpieces of English prose. It is 
a defence of the church of England against the attacks of 
Puritanism. 

In Scotland, at this time, John Knox (1505-1572), as the 
founder of Presbyterianism in that country, was the most 
prominent figure. His chief works are a History of the Ref- 
ormation in Scotland, and The First Blast of the Trumpet 
against the Monstrous Regiment of Women. This work was 
published the year Elizabeth ascended the throne, in 1558, 
but was aimed at Mary Queen of Scots and Mary Tudor, the 
predecessor and half-sister of Elizabeth. 

In the reign of James I. the Authorized Version of the 
Bible was made.* 

Long before the reign of James was ended, new thoughts and 
feelings were taking root in the minds and consciences of men. 
The divine right of kings was questioned, and in the reign of 
Charles I. the right of religious liberty was demanded. The 
beacon-light kindled on old Plymouth Rock shone back across 
the waters, giving new courage to sinking hearts in the far-off 
mother countiy. A new era was dawning upon England. Its 
effect upon literature will be seen in the following chapter.! 



* " Forty-seven persons in six companies, meeting at Westminster, Oxford, and 
Cambridge, distributed the labor among themselves ; twenty-five being assigned to 
the Old Testament, fifteen to the New, seven to the Apocrypha. The rules imposed for 
their guidance by the king were designed, as far as possible, to secure the text against 
any novel interpretation ; the translation called the Bishops' Bible, being established 
as the basis, as those still older had been in that ; and the work of each person or 
company being subjected to the review of the rest. The translation, which was 
commenced in 1607, was published in 1611."— Hollands Literature of Europe. 

f It is difficult, in marking periods of literature, to draw any exact dividing line. 
In the chapter just concluded, many who were still prominent at the close of the 
period were also conspicuous in Milton's time, and Milton is often alluded to as the 
last of the Elizabethan poets. He was likewise contemporary with Dryden's early 
life. It seems more appropriate, however, to assign to Milton a separate period, and 
none is more fitting than the republican period of England's history, to which he 
gave the concentrated energy of his life. 



60 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Elizabetha 

Period. 

EDMUND SPENSER. 

From The Faerie Queen. 
Book I. f Canto 1. 
i. 

A gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine, 
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shield e, 
Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine, 
The cruel markes of many' a bloody fielde ; 
Yet armes till that time did he never wield: 
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt, 
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield: 
Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, 

As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt. 

****** 

in. 

Upon a great adventure he was bond, 
That greatest Gloriana to him gave 
(That greatest glorious queene of Faerie lond), 
To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have, 
Which of all earthly thinges he most did crave : 
And ever, as he rode, his hart did earne 
To prove his puissance in battell brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne ; 
Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne. 

IV. 

A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside, 
Upon a lowly asse more white then snow : 
Yet she much whiter; but the same did hide 
Under a vele, that whimpled was full low ; 
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw: 
As one that inly mournd, so was she sad, 
And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow ; 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had ; 

And by her in a line a milke-white lamb she lad. 

****** 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



From Book J., Canto 3. 
IV. 

One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way, 
From her unhastie beast she did alight; 
And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay 
In secrete shadow, far from all men's sight ; 
From her fayre head her fillet she undight, 
And layd her stole aside: Her angel's face, 
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, 
And make a sunshine in the shady place ; 
Did ever mortall eye behold such heavenly grace ? 

v. 

It fortuned, out of the thickest wood 
A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly, 
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood : 
Soone as the royall Virgin he did spy, 
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, 
To have att once devourd her tender corse: 
But to the pray when as he drew more ny, 
His bloody rage aswaged with remorse, 
And, with the sight amazed, forgat his furious forse. 

VI. 

Instead thereof he kist her wearie feet, 
And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong ; 
As he her wronged innocence did weet. 
O how can beautie maister the most strong, 
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong! 
Whose yielded pryde and proud submission, 
Still dreading death, when she had marked long, 
Her hart gan melt in great compassion; 

And drizling teares did shed for pure affection. 

* * * * * * 

IX. 

The lyon would not leave her desolate, 

But with her went along, as a strong gard 

Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate 

Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: 

Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward 



62 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent, 
With humble service to her will prepard : 
From her fayre eyes he took comma ndement, 
And ever by her lookes conceived her intent. 

From the Shepherd's Calendar. 

This poem is here presented in modern language. In its original form 
it is as antiquated as the Faerie Queene. 

AUGUST. 

Aegloga Octava. — Argument. 

In this Aeglogue is set forth a delectable controversy, made in imitation of that 
in Theocritus: whereto Virgil fashioned his third and seventh Aeglogue. 
The Shepherds chose for umpire of their strife Cuddie, a neatherd's boy, 
who, having ended their cause, reciteth cdso, himself, a proper song, whereof 
Colin, he saith, was author. 

Wil I ie — Per igot — Cudd ie. 

W. — -Tell me, Perigot, what shall be the game, 

Wherfor with mine thou dare thy music match ? 
Or be thy bagpipes run far out of frame ? 

Or hath the cramp thy joints benumb'd with ache? 

P. — Ah ! Willie, when the heart is ill assay' d, 
How can bagpipe or joints be well apaid? 
Love hath misled both my younglings and me ; 
I pine for pain, and they, my pain to see. 

W.— Pardie and well-away ! ill may they thrive ; 

Never knew I lover's sheep in good plight; 
But an' if in rhymes with me thou dare strive 
Such fond fantasies shall soon be put to flight. 
* * * * * 

But, for the sunbeam so sore doth us beat, 
Were it not better to shun the scorching heat ? 
P. — Well, agreed, Willie ! then sit thee down, swain, 

Such a song never heard' st thou but Colin sing. 

Cuddie. — 'Gin where ye list, ye jolly shepherds twain ; 

Such a judge as Cuddie, were for a king. 

P. — It fell upon a holy eve, 
W. — Hey, ho, holy-day! 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



63 



P. — When holy Fathers went to shrieve; 

W. — Xow ginneth this roundelay. 
P. — Sitting upon a hill so high, 

W— Heigh, ho, the high hill. 
P. — I saw the bouncing Bellibone, 1 

W. — Hey, ho, Bonnibell ! 
P. — Tripping over the dale alone; 

W— She can trip it very well. 
P. — Well decked in a frock of gray, 

W. — Hey, ho, gray is greet ! 2 
P. — And in a kirtle of green say, 3 

W. — The green is for maidens meet, 
P. — A chaplet on her head she wore, 

W. — Hey, ho, chapelet ! 
P. — Of sweet violets — therein was store; 

W. — She sweeter than the violet. 
P. — My sheep did leave their wonted food, 

W. — Hey, ho, seely sheep ! 
P. — And gazed on her as they were wood/ 

W. — Wood 4 as he that did them keep. 
P — As the bonny lass passed by, 

W. — Hey, ho, bonny lass ! 
P. — She rov'd at me with glancing eye, 

W. — As clear as the crystal glass. 
P. — The glance into my heart did glide, 

W. — Hey, ho, the glider! 
P. — Therewith my soul was sharply gride, 5 

W. — Such wounds soon waxen wider. 
P. — Hasting to wrench the arrow out, 

W. — Hey, ho, Perigot ! 
P. — I left the head in my heart-root, 

W. — It was a desperate shot. 
P. — And if for graceless grief I die, 

W. — Hey, ho, graceless grief! 
P. — Witness she slew me with her eye, 

W. — Let thy folly be the prief, 6 
P. — And you that saw it, simple sheep, 

W. — Hey, ho, the fair flock! 
P. — For prief thereof, my death shall weep, 

W.- — And moan with many a mock. 



1 Belle et bonne (fair and good). The same as bonnibell. 
3 Silk. . * Mad. & Pierced. 



2 Sorrow. 
■ Proof. 



64 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



P. — So learn' d I love on a holy eve, 

W. — Hey, ho, holy day ! 
P. — That ever since my heart did grieve, 

W. — Now endeth our roundelay. 
Cuddle. — Sicker, such a roundel never heard I none, 

Little lacketh Perigot of the best, 
And Willie is not greatly overgone; 

So well his undersongs weren add rest. 

From The Soul's Errand.* 
This poem has been ascribed to various authors, but it is now believed 
to have been written by Sir Walter Raleigh. 

Go, soul, the Body's guest, 

Upon a thankless errand; 
Fear not to touch the best; 

The truth shall be thy warrant. 
Go, since I needs must die, 
And give them all the lie. 

Go, tell the Court it glows, 

And shines like painted wood ; 
Go, tell the Church it shows 

What's good, but does no good. 
If Court and Church reply, 
Give Court and Church the lie. 

SHAKESPEARE. 

From Eomeo and Juliet. 

O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo ? 

Deny thy father and refuse thy name. 

* * * * * * 

What 's in a name ? that which we call a rose, 

By any other name would smell as sweet. — Act II., Sc. 2. 

The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, 
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light. 

Act II., Sc. 3. 

Come, civil night, 

Thou sober-suited matron, all in black. — Act III, Sc. 2. 

It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 



* The poem consists of thirteen stanzas, 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: 

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. — Act IIL } Sc. 5. 

From As You Like It. 

Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court? 
Here we feel but the penalty of Adam, 
The season's difference ; as the icy fang, 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; 
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 
This is no flattery: these are counsellors 
That feelingly persuade me what I am. 
Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
Which, like a toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jew r el in his head ; — 
And this, our life, exempt from public haunts, 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything. — Act U., Sc. 1. 

All the world 's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players : 
They have their exits and their entrances ; 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; 
And then, the whining school-boy with his satchel, 
And shining morning-face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school : And then the lover ; 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow : Then, a soldier : 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth : And then the justice ; 
In fair round belly, with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances, 
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts 
6* E 



66 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Into the lean and slippered pantaloon; 
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side: 
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank : and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion : 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

Act II., Sc. 7. 

Truly I would the gods had made thee poetical. — Act III, Sc. 3. 

Break an hour's promise in love ? He that will divide a minute into 
a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a 
minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath 
clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole. 

Act IV., Sc. 1. 

From Much Ado About Nothing. 

Don Pedro. — Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble : 
the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. 

Leonato. — Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your 
grace ; for trouble being gone, comfort should remain ; but when you 
depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. 

Here you may see Benedick the married man. — Act L, Sc. 1. 

Dogberry. — To be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune, but to 
write and read comes by nature ! — Act III., Sc. 3. 

From Midsummer-Night 's Dream. 

Bottom. — Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that 
I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; 
I will roar, that I will make the duke say, 
Let him roar again, Let him roar again. 
Quince. — And you should do it too terribly, you would fright the 

duchess and the ladies. 

****** 

Bottom. — But I will aggravate my voice so, that 

I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove : 

I will roar you an 't were any nightingale. — Act I., Sc. 2. 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 67 



The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact; 

***** 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
And, as imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name. — Act V., Sc. 1. 

From Merchant of Venice. 

His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff : 
you shall seek all day ere you find them ; and when you have them 
they are not worth the search. — Act Z, Sc. 1. 

So may the outward shows be least themselves ; 
The world is still deceived with ornament. 
In law what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 
What dangerous error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 
There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on its outward parts. — Act III. } Sc. 2. 

The quality of mercy is not strain' d ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice bless'd; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. 
'T is mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. 
But mercy is above the sceptr'd sway ; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings ; 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
Thai, in the course of justice, none of us 



68 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Should see salvation ; we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. — Act IV., Sc. 1. 

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank. 
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears ; soft stillness and the night 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
* * * Look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patins of bright gold ; 
There's not the smallest orb which thou behokTst 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims : 
Such harmony is in immortal souls; 
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. — Act V., Sc. 1. 

How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. — Act V., Sc. 1. 

From Twelfth Xight. 

That strain again ; — it had a dying fall ; 
Oh ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet south 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odor. — Act L, Sc. 1. 

She sat, like Patience on a monument 
Smiling at grief. — Act 9 II., Sc. 4- 

Some are born great ; some achieve greatness, and some have great- 
ness thrust upon them. — Act II, Sc. 5. 

From Kektg John. 

To me and to the state of my great grief, 
Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great 
That no supporter but the huge, firm earth 
Can hold it up ; here I and sorrow sit ; 
Here is my throne ; bid kings come bow to it. 

Act HI., Sc. 1. 

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 69 



To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. — Act IV., Sc. 2. 

From Julius Caesar. 

But 'tis a common proof 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
Whereto the climber upward turns his face; 
But when he once attains the upmost round, 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may ; 
Then, lest he may, prevent. — Act II., Sc. 1. 

O conspiracy ! 
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night 
When evils are most free ? Oh, then, by day, 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage ? — Act II., Sc. 1. 

Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar, 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood. 

Act II., Sc. 1. 

You are my true and honorable wife; 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. — Act II., Sc. 1. 

Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once.— A ct II., Sc. 2. 

O mighty Caesar ! Dost thou lie so low? 
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
Shrunk to this little measure? — Act III., Sc. 1. 

Are yet two Komans living such as these? — 
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! 
It is impossible that ever Eome 

Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears 
To this dead man, than you shall see me pay. 

Act V., Sc. 3. 

This was the noblest Roman of them all; 
All the conspirators, save only he, 
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; 
He only in a general honest thought, 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



And common good to all, made one of them. 

His life was gentle, and the elements 

So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up 

And say to all the world, This was a man ! — Act V. y Sc. 5. 

From Macbeth. 
When shall we three meet again ?— Act /., Sc. 1. 

Come, what come may, — 
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

Act /., Sc. 8. 

What thou wouldst highly, 
That thou wouldst holily ; wouldst not play false, 
And yet wouldst wrongly win. — Act L, Sc. 5. 

Letting I dare not, wait upon I would. — Act J., Sc. 7. 

But screw your courage to the sticking-place, 
And we '11 not fail.— Act I., Sc. 7. 

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten 
This little hand— Act V., Sc. 1. 

My May of life 
Is fallen into the sere and yellow leaf. — Act V., Sc. 8. 

Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; 
The cry is still, They come ! Our castle's strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn. — Act V., Sc. 5. 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
To the last syllable of recorded time; 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ; 
Life's but a walking shadow: a poor player, 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
And then is heard no more: it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing.— -Act V., Sc. 5. 

From Hamlet. 

In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 

A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 

The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. — Act I., Sc. 1. 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 71 



And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. — Act I., Sc. 1, 

But look, the morn in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. 

Act I., Sc. 1. 

He was a man, take him for all and all. — Act I. } Sc. 2. 

Good my brother, 
Do not as some ungracious pastors do, 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven, 
Whilst, like a pufFd and reckless libertine, 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads 
And recks not his own read. — Act I., Sc. 3, 

This above all, — to thine own self be true; 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. — Act Sc. 3. 

My tables, — meet it is, I set it down, 

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain. 

Act J., Sc. 5. 

Brevity is the soul of wit. — Act 77., Sc. 2, 

Though this be madness, yet there 's method in it. — Act II., Sc. 2. 

I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and count myself a king of infinite 
space. — Act II, Sc. 2. 

What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason ! how infinite in 
faculties ! in form and moving how express and admirable ! in action 
how like an angel ! in apprehension how like a god ! — Act II., Sc. 2, 

O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, sword, 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
The observed of all observers ! quite, quite, down ! 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh. 

Act III, Sc. 1. 

Horatio, thou art- e'en as just a man, 
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 



72 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Nay do not think I flatter ; 
For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, 
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be flattered ? 
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? 
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice 
And could of men distinguish her election, 
She hath sealed thee for herself: for thou hast been 
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Hast ta'en with equal thanks ; and bless' d are those 
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
To sound what stop she please : Give me that man 
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
As I do thee.— -^d III., Sc. 2, 

Hamlet. — Will you play upon this pipe ? 
Guildenstern. — My lord, I cannot. 
Ham. — I do beseech you. 
Guil. — I know no touch of it, my lord. 

Ham. — 'Tis as easy as lying : govern these ventages with your fingers 
and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most 
eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops. 

Gruil. — But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony ; I 
have not the skill. 

Ham. — Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me ! 
you would play upon me ; you would seem to know mjr stops ; you would 
pluck out the heart of my mystery : you would sound me from my lowest 
note to the top of my compass : and there is much music, excellent voice, 
in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood ! do you 
think I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call me what instru- 
ment you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. 

Act III., Sc. 2. 
Look here, upon this picture and on this; 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow ! 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself: 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 73 



An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 

A station like the herald Mercury, 

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 

A combination, and a form, indeed, 

Where every god did seem to set his seal, 

To give the world assurance of a man. — Act III., Sc. 4, 

What is a man, 
If his chief good, and market of his time, 
Be but to sleep, and feed? a beast, no more. 
Sure, He that made us with such large discourse, 
Looking before and after, gave us not 
That capability and godlike reason 
To fust in us unused. 

■* * * * # * 

Eightly to be great, 
Is not to stir without great argument; 
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 
When honor 's at the stake. — Act IV., Sc. 4. 

Our indiscretions sometimes serve us well 

When our deep plots do pall ; and that should teach us, 

There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, 

Kough-hew them how he will. — Act V., Sc. 2. 

I am more an antique Eoman than a Dane. — Act V., Sc. 2, 

Good-night, sweet Prince ; 
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. — Act V., Sc. 2. 

From King Lear. 

O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
Beat at this gate that let thy folly in, 
And thy dear judgment out. — Act I., Sc. 4. 

Pray do not mock me ; 
I am a very foolish, fond old man, 
Fourscore, and upwards ; and, to deal plainly, 
I fear I am not in my perfect mind. — Act IV., Sc. 7. 

Come, let 's away to prison ; 
We two will sing like birds i' the cage : 
When thou dost ask my blessing, I '11 kneel down, 
And ask of thee forgiveness. — Act V., Sc. 3. 
7 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Howl, howl, howl, howl ! — O, ye are men of stone. 
Had I your tongues and eyes I 'd use them so 
That Heaven's vault should crack. O, she is gone forever. 
* i * * ^ * ,> * # 

Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha ! 
What is 't thou say'st ? — Her voice was ever soft, 
Gentle, and low ; an excellent thing in woman. 

Act V., Sc. 3. 

Vex not his ghost : O let him pass ! he hates him, 
That would upon the rack of this rough world 
Stretch him out longer. — Act. V., Sc. 3. 

From The Tempest. 
Our revels now are ended: these our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air ; 
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. — Act IV., Sc. 1. 

BEN JONSON. 

From The Forest. 
Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I '11 not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee, 
As giving it a hope, that there 

It could not withered be, 
But thou thereon* didst only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me; 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 75 



Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
Hot of itself but thee. 

Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke. 

Underneath this sable hearse 
Lies the subject of all verse, 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother ; 
Death ! ere thou hast slain another, 
Learn' d and fair, and good as she, 
Time shall throw a dart at thee. 

LORD BACON. 

From his Essays. 

On Truth. — Doth any man doubt that if there were taken out of 
men's minds various opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imagina- 
tions as one would, and the like, it would leave the minds of a number 
of men poor shrunken things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and 
unpleasing to themselves ? 

On Death. — It is as natural to die as to be born ; and to a little infant 
perhaps one is as painful as the other. He that dies in an earnest pursuit 
is like one that is wounded in hot blood ; who for the time scarce feels the 
hurt ; and therefore, a mind fixed and bent upon somewhat that is good 
doth avert the dolors of death. 

On Revenge. — Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more 
man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out : for as for the 
first wrong, it doth but offend the law, but the revenge of that wrong 
putteth the law out of office. Certainly, in taking revenge, a man is 
but even with his enemy, but in passing it over he is superior. 

Of Adversity. — The virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue 
of adversity is fortitude, which in morals is the more heroical virtue. 
Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament, adversity is the blessing 
of the Xew, which carrieth the greater benediction and the clearer 
revelation of God's favor. Yet, even in the Old Testament, if you listen 
to David's harp, you shall hear as many hearse-like airs as carols. 

On Studies. — Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. 
Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring ; for ornament, 
is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of 
business ; for expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, 
one by one ; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of 
affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time 



76 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



in studies, is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation ; to 
make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar ; they 
perfect nature, and are perfected by experience — for natural abilities are 
like natural plants, that need pruning by study ; and studies themselves 
do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in 
by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, 
and wise men use them ; for they teach not their own use ; but that is a 
wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read, not 
to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to 
find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to 
be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and di- 
gested : that is, some books are to be read only in parts ; others to be 
read, but not curiously ; and some few to be read wholly, and with dili- 
gence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and ex- 
tracts made of them by others ; but that would be only in the less im- 
portant arguments and the meaner sort of books ; else distilled books 
are, like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full 
man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man ; and, there- 
fore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory ; if he 
confer little, he had need have a present wit ; and if he read little, he 
had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. 

Of Superstition. — It were better to have no opinion of God at all, 
than such an opinion as is unworthy of Him ; for the one is unbelief, 
the other contumely. 

Of Atheism. — I had rather believe all the fables in the Legend,* and 
the Talmud,f and the Alcoran, J than that this universal frame is without 
a mind ; and therefore God never wrought miracles to convince Atheism, 
because his ordinary works convince it. It is true that a little philosophy 
inclineth man's mind to Atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men's 
minds above to religion ; for, while the mind of man looketh upon second 
causes scattered, it may sometimes rest in them, and go no further ; but 
when it beholdeth the chain of them confederate and linked together, it 
must needs fly to Providence and Deity. 

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 

Description of Arcadia. 
There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately 
trees : humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the 



* The Legend was a collection of miraculous stories. 

f The book of Jewish traditions. % The sacred book of the Mohammedans. 



LITERATURE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 77 



refreshing of silver rivers : meadows, enamelled with all sorts of eye- 
pleasing flowers : thickets, which being lined with most pleasant shade 
were witnessed so too, by the cheerful disposition of many well-tuned 
birds : Each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober security, while 
the pretty lambs with bleating oratory craved the dam's comfort: here a 
shepherd's boy piping, as though he should never be old ; there a young 
shepherdess knitting, and withal singing, and it seemed that her voice 
comforted her hands to work, and her hands kept time to her voice-music. 

From the Defence of Poesy. 

And truly Plato, whosoever considereth shall find that in the body 
of his work, though the inside and strength were philosophy, the skin, 

as it were, and beauty dependeth most of poetry Herodotus 

entitled his History by the name of the " Nine Muses," so that truly 
neither the Philosopher nor the Historiographer could, at first, have 
entered into the gates of popular judgment if they had not taken a 
great passport of Poetry. 

RICHARD HOOKER. 

From the Ecclesiastical Polity. 

Of law there can be no less acknowledged than that her seat is the 
bosom of God ; her voice the harmony of the world. All things in 
heaven and earth do her homage ; the very least as feeling her care, 
and the greatest as not exempted from her power. Both angels and 
men, and creatures of what condition soever, though each in different 
sort and manner, yet all with uniform consent, admiring her as the 
mother of their peace and joy. 

JOHN LYLY. 

From his Euphues. 
Advice of the Old Gentleman of Naples to Euphues. 
Let thy attire be comely, but not costly, thy diet wholesome, but not 
excessive ; use pastimes as the word importeth, to passe the time in 
honest recreation. Mistrust no man without cause, neither be thou cred- 
ulous without proofe ; be not lyght to follow every man's opinion, nor 
obstinate to stand in thy own conceipt. Serve God, love God, feare God, 
God will so bless thee as either thy heart can wish or thy friends desire. 

Euphues' Advice to Philautus. 
Bee humble to thy superiors ; gentle to thy equalls ; to thy inferiors 
favourable. En vie not thy betters, justle not thy fellows ; oppress not 
7* 



78 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



the poore. The stipend that is allowed to maintain thee use wisely, be 
neither prodigall to spende all, covetous to keep all. Cut thy coat ac- 
cording to thy cloth, and thinke it better to bee accompted thriftie 
among the wise than a good companion among the riotous. 

No, no, the times are changed, as Ovid saith, and we are changed in 
the times. Let us endeavor, every one, to amend one, and we shall all 
soon be amended. Let us give no occasion of reproach, and we shall 
more easily beare the burden of false reports. 

* * •* * * 

It is not ye descent of birth, but ye consent of conditions, that maketh 
gentlemen ; neither great manors but good manners that express the 
true image of dignitie. 

Syllabus. 

The Elizabethan period embraces the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and 
Charles I. Encouragement was extended to literature by all three of these 
sovereigns. The three great names of the Elizabethan period are Shake- 
speare, Spenser, and Bacon. 

Spenser was the next great poet after Chaucer. 

The Drama was the principal feature of the Elizabethan literature. 
From the rude Miracle and Moral Plays, it reached perfection in Shake- 
speare. John Heywood invented the Interlude. Nicholas Udall wrote 
the first English comedy. Thomas Sackville wrote the first tragedy. A 
host of dramatists of this time precede and follow Shakespeare. The last 
of the Elizabethan Dramatists was James Shirley. 

The theatres were closed during the Commonwealth or Puritan adminis- 
tration. 

The facts known concerning Shakespeare's life are few. He was born 
at Stratford-on-Avon, and there his bones lie buried. That he was the 
greatest genius the world ever knew, is shown by his wonderful works, 
which are more and more appreciated as time advances. His sonnets alone 
would have made him famous. 

The language of this time was influenced by John Lyly's Euphues. 

The name of Francis Bacon stands next to Shakespeare among the 
writers of that time. Like Roger Bacon of the thirteenth century, he 
urged investigation and experiment in science. 

The two most noted courtiers among the writers of Elizabeth's time were 
Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh. 

In theology, the greatest names of the time are those of Hooker and 
Knox. 

The translation of the Bible was one of the most important literary works 
in the reign of James I. 



MILTON. 



CHAPTER VI. 

The Age of Milton, or the Puritan 

Age. 

1649—1660. 

THE Commonwealth in England lasted from 1649 to 1660. 
During this time the Puritans had control of the govern- 
ment. The Puritan influence in literature, however, began 
earlier, and lasted longer than the eleven years of the Common- 
wealth. Early in Elizabeth's reign the Puritan spirit arose. * 

The Tudor line of kings ended with Elizabeth. With her 
successor, James First of England and Sixth of Scotland, the 
Stuart line began, and with it began a series of troubles in 
England. The liberties of the people were threatened. The 
" divine right of kings " was the chief tenet of James ; second 
to that was the " divine right of bishops." f 

The condition to which James had reduced the kingdom 
anticipated the disastrous reign of his son. The first care of 
Charles upon coming to the throne was to replenish the 
exhausted treasury. This he attempted to do by levying 
heavy taxes upon the people. 
The petition of rights was drawn up, which Charles was 



* The title of " Puritan " was first given in 1564 to the dissenters from the Estab- 
lished Church. 

f " Unbroken episcopal succession, and hereditary regal succession were, with the 
new sovereign, the inviolable basis of church and state." * — Greene's History of the 
English People, 

79 



80 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



induced to sign, thereby binding himself to levy no taxes upon 
the people without the consent of Parliament. But the con- 
tract was no sooner signed than violated, and, unheeding the 
murmurs of discontent, Charles continued in his illegal taxa- 
tions and his arbitrary disbanding of Parliament. 

By every means the King was making himself unpopular. 
Among his many arbitrary acts was his attempt to introduce 
episcopacy into Scotland, and to force the liturgy of the Church 
of England upon the people. This the Scots resisted, refusing 
to abandon their Presbyterian form of worship. Moreover, 
they drew up a covenant, binding themselves to resist all re- 
ligious innovations ; and this covenant every person through- 
out Scotland was obliged to sign. The "Covenanters," as 
they were afterwards called, became formidable enemies of 
Charles, and at once arrayed themselves into an army against 
him. Lacking means to quell this uprising, the King, having 
for eleven years governed without a Parliament, now sought 
its assistance. Parliament assembled, not, however, to raise 
means to assist the King in his distress, but to consider the 
grievances of the people. Enraged at this the King dissolved 
the Parliament, only to reassemble it in a time of more press- 
ing need. This time the Parliament declared that it " should 
not again be dissolved, prorogued, or adjourned without its 
own consent." Charles, by assenting to this, lost all control 
of the government. A civil war resulted, the Puritans siding 
with Parliament ; the regular clergy, the landed gentry, and a 
majority of the nobles siding with the King. 

The battle of Naseby (1645) decided the strength of the Puri- 
tans. Charles was defeated, taken prisoner, and condemned to 
death u as a tyrant, traitor, murderer, and enemy of his coun- 
try," and on the 30th of January, 1649, was beheaded. 

No sooner was the atrocious deed for liberty committed, than 
the people recoiled with horror from the act. Pity took the 
place of hatred. The inconstant multitude, forgetting his 
errors, now deplored the untimely end of their sovereign. 

MILTON. 

In this crisis, when public sentiment was vacillating, it re- 
quired not only the strong arm of a Cromwell to command the 



THE AGE OF MILTON. 



81 



actions, but the calm, clear intellect of a Milton to direct the 
feelings of the new republic. 

Until this stormy time John Mllton (1608-1674), the poet 
and scholar, had lived in retirement, adding daily stores of 
knowledge and fancy to the rich treasury of his mind, in the 
conscious preparation for the work which was to make his 
name immortal. Through all these years of study, one 
thought, one desire had haunted him like a passion — a wish 
to write "something which the world would not willingly let 
die." But his country's call now aroused him from all dreams 
of putting into execution his long-cherished plans. 

Guided solely by his love of liberty, he entered upon his task 
of setting before the people a clear, dispassioned view of the 
state of the kingdom. His ability and ardent love of liberty 
attracted the attention of the Council of State, and he was 
appointed Latin or Foreign Secretary during the Common- 
wealth, in which capacity he made the intimate acquaintance 
of Cromwell. 

Milton himself gives a brief outline of his early career : 

"I was born," he says, "at London, of respectable parents. My 
father was a man of the highest integrity. My mother, an excellent 
woman, was particularly known throughout the neighborhood for her 
charitable donations. My father destined me from a child for the pur- 
suits ef polite learning, which I prosecuted with such eagerness that, 
after I was twelve years old, I rarely retired to bed from my lucubra- 
tions till midnight. This was the first thing which proved pernicious 
to my eyes, to the natural weakness of which were added frequent 
headaches. But as all this could not abate my instinctive ardor for 
learning, he provided me, in addition to the ordinary instructions of 
the grammar-school, with masters to give me daily lessons at home. 
Being thus instructed in various languages, and having gotten no slight 
taste of the sweetness of philosophy, he sent me to Cambridge, one of 
our two national colleges. There, aloof from all profligate conduct, 
and with the approbation of all good men, I studied seven years, ac- 
cording to the usual course of discipline and of scientific instruction, 
till I obtained, and with applause, the degree of Master, as it is called." 

It was during his course at the University that Milton com- 
posed the most of his Latin verses, and the beautiful Hymn on 
the Nativity. 

F 



82 



HISTORY OF EXGLISH LITERATURE. 



Leaving college, he passed the next five years at Horton. his 
father's country residence. Here he composed those lighter 
poems, which, if they do not evince the majesty and power of 
Paradise Lost, have a luxuriance of imagery scarcely equalled 
by his more celebrated poem. 

It would be difficult to find two more exquisite companion- 
pictures than Allegro and II Penseroso. the respective por- 
traitures of Mirth and Melancholy. There is a grace and airy 
lightness in his " heart-easing mirth." that we seldom accredit 
to Milton, with whom we mainly associate only the grand and 
high-sounding line. But what could be more expressive of 
••jollity " than the 

" Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, 
And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides." 

Ariel* scarcely invites to a more exquisite measure than that 
of Mirth in, 

"Come, and trip it as you go, 
On the light fantastic toe.' 1 

Arcades was written for a portion of an entertainment given 
to the Countess of Derby at her residence at Harefield, not far 
from Horton. Comas is a masque composed in honor of an 
actual event, and was written soon after Arco.des. and for the 
same family. 4 " Lycidas. the last of his so-called early poems. i 
was an elegy on the death of one of his college friends. Edward 
King. 

* "Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, 
The wild waves' whist. 
Foot it featlv here and there." 

Tempest, Act I.. Scene II.— Shakespeare. 
f The Countess of Derby's son-in-law, the Earl of Bridgewater. lived at Ludlow 
Castle, near Horton. His two sons and his daughter, Lady Alice Egerton, had lost 
their way in passing through Haywood Forest. Several interesting incidents had 
occurred on their journey, and upon these events Milton was requested to write a 
Masque to be performed at the Castle. 

% "Lycidas" was the name of a shepherd in one of Virgil's Eclogues : and, signi- 
fying whiteness and purity, Milton, under this name, embalmed the memory of his 
friend. 



THE AGE OF MILTON, 



83 



In 1638 the poet set out for a tour on the Continent. His 
genius attracted the attention of the learned men abroad, and 
on all sides compliments were heaped upon him ; but as soon 
as news of England's distress reached his ears, nothing could 
induce him to protract his stay. "For," said he, 

" I thought it base that I should be travelling at my ease abroad, even 
for the improvement of my mind, while my fellow-citizens were fight- 
ing for their liberty at home." 

And, accordingly, we find him, as in the opening of the chap- 
ter, advocating liberal views, justice, and humanity. He took 
no active part in the affairs of government, however, until after 
the execution of the King. 

Milton's life, in reference to his literary works, may be 
divided into three periods. The first, including his college 
days, and the five quiet years spent at Horton, when he wrote 
his Early Poems ; the second, comprising the best years of his 
life, when, from the age of thirty-two to fifty-two, from 1640 to 
1660, he gave to his country time, talents, and the boon of 
sight. This may be called the Period of his Prose Works. The 
third period embraces the last few years of his life, in which he 
wrote his grand epic, Paradise Lost, and the classical drama 
Samson Agonistes. 

On his return from the Continent, Milton engaged at once in 
the great controversy then raging between Episcopacy and 
Puritanism.* His first pamphlet was of 'Reformation touching 
Church Discipline in England, 

In 1643 Milton married Mary Powell, the daughter of a 
Eoyalist ; but the simple home of the Puritan poet was little 



* In 1641, Bishop Hall, urged by Laud, whose sole aim was to secure church uni- 
formity, wrote " An Humble Remonstrance " to the high court of Parliament, urging 
the divine rights of Episcopacy. An answer to this was written by " Smectymnuus." 
This name was composed of the initial letters of the five Puritan divines who were 
the joint authors of the work— Stephen Marshall, Edmund Calamy, Thomas Young, 
Matthew Newcomen, and William (Uuilliam) Spurstow. The answer by Sraectym- 
nuus to Bishop Hall called forth a confutation by Archbishop Usher, to which 
Milton replied, in a treatise entitled Of Prelatical Episcopacy. Hall then published 
a Defence of the Humble Eemonstrance, and to this Milton replied in a pamphlet 
entitled Animadversions upon the Remonstrant's Defence against Smectymnuus. Milton's 
fifth pamphlet, An Apology for Smectymnuus, was the last of his treatises on prelatical 
government, 



84 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



in accordance with her gayer tastes, and after a month's resi- 
dence with her husband in London, she left, and for some time 
refused to return. Milton hereupon wrote his two books or 
pamphlets on the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce.* 

While still engaged upon his pamphlets on divorce, Milton 
wrote another essay or letter on Education. In this work, 
after dwelling with some minuteness on the errors of the day 
in methods of imparting knowledge, he says : 

" I shall detain you now no longer in the demonstration of what we 
should not do, but straight conduct you to a hillside, where I will point 
out the right path of a virtuous and noble education ; laborious indeed, at 
the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospects 
and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was 
not more charming. I doubt not but ye shall have more ado to drive 
our dullest and laziest youths, our stocks and stubs, from the infinite 
desire of such a happy nurture, than we have now to hale and drag our 
choicest and hopefullest wits to that asinine feast of sow thistles and 
brambles, which is commonly set before them, as all the food and enter- 
tainment of their tenderest and most docile age." 

In the same year (1644) Milton published the most important 
work he had yet written. It was entitled Areopagitica ; a Speech 
of Mr. John Milton for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing, ad- 
dressed to the Parliament of England. The year previous, 
Parliament, fearful of the influence of free speech uttered 
through the press, had instituted a censorship "to prevent all 
publications which inveighed against churchmen, or contained 
any insinuations against the measures of government." Mil- 
ton made no delay in opposing this tyrannous measure, in which 
he saw the attempted strangling of free speech. He says : 

" Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the 
earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously, by licensing and pro- 
hibiting, to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple. 
Who ever knew Truth put to the worst in a free and open encounter ? 
. . . For who knows not that Truth is strong next to the Almighty ; 
she needs no policies, no stratagems, no licensing, to make her victo- 
rious; those are the shifts and defences that error uses against her 
power." 



* This was followed by two other pamphlets upon the same subject, entitled Tetra- 
chordon and Colasierion. These were replies to objections to his doctrine of divorce. 



THE AGE OF MILTON. 



85 



Soon after the execution of Charles, there appeared a work en- 
titled "Eikon Basilike " (The Koyal Image) ; the " True Pour- 
traicture of his Sacred Majesty in his Solitudes and Sufferings." 
It was believed by most to have been written by the King 
during his imprisonment. Appearing when it did, it produced 
the most profound impression. Tinctured with a vein of piety, 
of which Charles was not destitute, it called upon the sympa- 
thies of the masses, and so universal was the sentiment of pity 
and indignation it excited, that the Council of State, to which 
body Milton had been appointed secretary, urged him to write 
a reply. So to "Eikon Basilike" (The Boyal Image) Milton 
opposed his JEikonoclastes (Image Breaker) : 

"I opposed," says he, "the Iconoclast to the Ikon, not, as is pretended, 
in insult to the departed spirit of the King, but in the persuasion that 
Queen Truth ought to be preferred to King Charles." 

Again, in the same year, the Council of State called upon 
Milton to answer an antagonist upon the Continent. This was 
Salmasius, a celebrated professor at Leyden, who sought to in- 
flame the prejudices of other nations against the English for 
the murder of their king. The work was addressed to the 
legitimate heir, Charles II. In reply Milton wrote his cele- 
brated Defence of the People of England. 

Salmasius did not attempt another encounter. A less pow- 
erful writer did in an article called, " The Cry of Koyal Blood 
to Heaven against the English Parricides." To this Milton 
replied in a Second Defence for the People of England. He had 
now lost the sight of both eyes. In a Sonnet to his friend and 
former pupil, Cyriac Skinner, he says, in reference to the loss 
of his eyes: 

" What supports me, dost thou ask ? 
The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied 
In Liberty's defence, my noble task, 
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
This thought might lead me through the world's vain masque 
Content, though blind, had I no better guide." 

The Commonwealth ended, and the Stuart line restored, the 
supporters of Cromwell became in many instances the flatterers 
of Charles II. Milton, on the other hand, refused to become 
Secretary to the Council of State under Charles II., preferring 

8 



86 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



honest poverty to royal favors won at the expense of con- 
science. 

The period of Milton's life which we are now approaching 
constitutes the Third Period, or that of his Later Poems. 
When at last his long life-dream is to be realized— after his 
best days have been spent in the warfare for truth and liberty, 
and when total blindness is his portion — full of confidence in 
his ability to cope with his mighty theme — Paradise Lost — he 
begins by invoking the aid of the "heavenly muse" in his 
" adventurous song : " 

" That with no middle flight intends to soar. 
And chiefly thou, oh spirit, that dost prefer 
Before all temples the upright heart and pure, 
Instruct me, for thou knowest. 

What in me is dark 
Illumine ; what is low raise and support ; 
That to the height of this grand argument 
I may assert eternal Providence, 
And justify the ways of God to men." 

His reference to the baseness of his own times is frequently 
evident. All the fallen angels are princes and potentates, most 
of them representing some false religion or idolatry which had 
crept into a purer worship. Mammon is described as 

" the least erected spirit that fell 

From heaven; for e'en in heaven his looks and thoughts 
Were always downward bent, admiring more 
The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, 
Than aught divine or holy." 

The whole poem breathes aspirations for the highest. Even 
these fallen enemies of good aspire to a better condition. 

The fourth book contains some of the finest passages. The 
descriptions of night and morning are scarcely excelled by 
Shakespeare : 

"Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad." 



" Now morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime 
Advancing, sow'd the earth with Orient pearl." 



THE AGE OF MILTON. 



87 



No English writer has ever had such complete mastery of 
the language. What noise of conflict in these words : 

"Arms on armor clashing bray'd 
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 
Of brazen chariots rag'd." 

And what harmony in these : 

" Heaven open'd wide 
Her ever during gates, harmonious sound, 
On golden hinges moving/' 

It is the grand swelling note of the organ that is oftenest 
heard in his melody, but not unfrequently the gentlest sounds 
in nature are represented, as in the 

"liquid lapse of murmuring streams/' 

where the very sound of the water is heard. 

Seven years were occupied by Milton in the writing of Para- 
dise Lost. Then, at the suggestion of his friend, Thomas 
Elwood, he wrote Paradise Begained. This poem, however, 
sinks far below the other in poetic dignity. Paradise Lost was 
finished in the gay, licentious times of Charles II., when only 
flippant, bad literature was popular. Pressing want compelled 
Milton to offer his manuscript for sale. A publisher bought it 
for five pounds. Should three editions sell, the author was to 
receive an additional five pounds. He lived to receive ten 
pounds. After his death, his widow sold her entire "right, 
title, and interest " in the work for eight pounds. 

In the last years of his life, when by the " ever-during dark " 
surrounded, and "from the cheerful ways of men cut off," the 
blind poet poured out his pent-up grief in the grand tragedy of 
Samson Agonistes. In this Milton fulfilled his hope of writing 
a sacred drama, into which form he once thought of turning 
his great epic. Samson Agonistes is modelled by the rules of 
the Greek drama. In this poem we are made to understand 
Milton's own personal feelings. He is the Samson shorn of 
his strength, and "blind among enemies." Symbolized in this 
drama we see the perfidious age of Charles II., the national 
humiliation for liberty lost and reviled ; and Milton, blind 
and scoffed at, yet undaunted, feeling the spiritual strength 



88 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



of a Samson to pull down the unholy temple of the Philis- 
tines. 

The same age that produced Milton produced Cowley, Waller, 
Davenant, and Butler, who, being Koyalists, enjoyed a popularity 
which Milton in his own day never knew. 

Butler's Hudibras, the expression of the popular sentiment of the 
Restoration period, was a great favorite with Charles II. and his cour- 
tiers. A copy of this satire upon the Puritans was in the hands of all, 
while the grand epic of Milton lay unnoticed on the bookseller's shelf. 

Theology. 

Religion was the one absorbing theme of the masses. If 
there was cant amongst the Puritans, and flagrant immorality 
amongst the cavaliers, there was also earnest, sincere piety 
with the one, and loyalty and religious purity with the other. 

The Church of England found one of its grandest supporters 
in Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), who, like Hooker, threw the 
grace of clemency over his strongest arguments against Puri- 
tanism. He united, in his style, vigorous thought with ele- 
gance of diction. On account of his exuberant imagination, he 
is sometimes called u the Shakespeare of Divines." His prin- 
cipal work is the Liberty of Prophesying, which contains broad 
and tolerant views on the forms of religious worship. This was 
written during the Protectorate. His more popular works are 
those on the Bute and Exercise of Holy Living and Dying. 

The Bible, after its revision by the order of King James, had 
become, among a certain class, the most popular book in the 
realm. Its great truths and marvellous narrations were pon- 
dered over, lived upon, and made the daily spiritual food of the 
Puritan worshipper. Its various interpretations led to the for- 
mation of various sects. Besides the large bodies of Presby- 
terians and Baptists, the Independents, Anabaptists, Quakers, 
Socinians, and innumerable others arose, some of them ephem- 
eral, and others increasing in numbers and influence, and 
destined to become a power in the religious world. 

Among the distinguished Non-conformist divines were Kich- 
ard Baxter (1615-1691), author of The Call to the Unconverted, 
and The Saints' Everlasting Best John Bunyan (1628-1688), 



LITERATURE OF MILTON'S TIME. 



89 



author of Pilgrim's Progress, and George Fox (1624-1690), the 
founder of the Society of Friends.* 

One of the most delightful writers of the age was good old 
Izaak Walton (1593-1683), dear not only to every angler's 
heart, but to all true lovers of literature. His chief work was 
the Complete Angler. 

Illustrations of the Literature of Milton's Time. 

MILTON. 

From his Ode, 
On the Morning of Christ's Nativity, 
i. 

" It was the winter wild, 
While the heaven-born child 

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; 
Nature, in awe to him, 
Had doff'd her gaudy trim, 

With her great Master so to sympathize; 
It was no season then for her 
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 

IV. 

" No war, or battle's sound 
Was heard the world around, 

The idle spear and shield were high up hung; 
The hooked chariot stood 
Unstain'd with hostile blood; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; 
And kings sat still with awful eye, 
As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. 

* All three of these Non-conformists were imprisoned for the expression of their 
religious beliefs. It was while in prison that Bunyan wrote the Pilgrim's Progress. 
The only books to which he had access were the Bible and Fox's Book of Martyrs. 

The extreme corruptness of the times, in which music and elegant accomplish- 
ments ministered to luxury and voluptuousness, caused early Friends to testify 
against the fashionable accomplishments of the day. The strictures upon dress and 
manners were also a silent remonstrance against the excesses of the times. Seeing 
the homage paid to rank, George Fox chose to show his own disregard of station or 
title by refusing to take off his hat to any one, no matter how high in rank. These 
outward forms have lost much of their original significance, and in many cases are 
but traditions of the past. 
8* 



90 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



v. 

" But peaceful was the night, 
Wherein the Prince of Light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began: 
The winds, with wonder whist, 
Smoothly the waters kist, 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, 
Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave."* 

From Comtjs. 

The Lady Separated from her Brothers. 

O, welcome, pure-eyed faith, white-handed hope, 

Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings, 

And thou unblemish'd form of chastity! 

I see ye visibly, and now believe 

That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill 

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, 

Would send a glistening guardian, if need were, 

To keep my life and honor unassail'd. 

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 

Turn forth her silver lining on the night? 

I did not err, there does a sable cloud 

Turn forth her silver lining on the night, 

And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 

From Akeopagitica. 

Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely, above all 
liberties. 

He who destroys a good book kills reason itself, kills the image of 
God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a burthen to the earth ; 
but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed 
and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true, no age 
can restore a life whereof, perhaps, there is no great loss ; and revolu- 
tions of ages do not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for want of 
which whole nations fare worse. We should be wary, therefore, what 
persecution we raise against the living labors of public men ; how we 
spill that seasoned life of man, preserved and stored up in books ; since 
we see a kind of homicide may thus be committed, sometimes a mar- 



* This ode consists of twenty-seven stanzas. 



LITERATURE OF MILTON'S TIME. 



91 



tyrdom ; and if extended to the whole impression, a kind of massacre, 
whereof the execution ends not in the slaving of an elemental life, but 
strikes at the ethereal and fifth essence, the breath of reason itself, — 
slays an immortality rather than a life. 

Lest some should persuade ye, Lords and Commons, that these argu- 
ments of learned men's discouragement at this your order are mere 
flourishes, and not real, I could recount what I have seen and heard in 
other countries, where this kind of inquisition tyrannizes ; when I have 
sat among their learned men (for that honor I had), and been counted 
happy to be born in such a place of philosophic freedom, as they sup- 
posed England was, while themselves did nothing but bemoan the 
servile condition into which learning amongst them was brought ; that 
this was it which had damped the glory of Italian wits ; that nothing 
had been there written now these many years but flattery and fustian. 
There it was that I found and visited the famous Galileo, grown old, a 
prisoner to the inquisition, for thinking in astronomy otherwise than 
the Franciscan and Dominican licensers thought. And though I knew 
that England then was groaning loudest under the prelatical yoke, 
nevertheless I took it as a pledge of future happiness that other nations 
were so persuaded of her liberty. Yet it was beyond my hope that 
those worthies were then breathing in her air, who should be her lead- 
ers to such a deliverance as shall never be forgotten by any revolution 
of time that this world hath to finish. 

From Paradise Lost. 
" Is this the region, this the soil, the clime ? " 
Said then the lost archangel; — "this the seat 
That we must change for heaven? This mournful gloom 
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he, 
Who now is Sovereign, can dispose and bid 
What shall be right : farthest from him is best 
Whom reason hath equall'd, force hath made supreme, 
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, 
Where joy forever dwells ! Hail, horrors ! hail, 
Infernal world ! and thou profoundest hell 
Receive thy new possessor ; one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time : 
The mind is its own place, and in itself 
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." 

Book I. 

On the other side up rose 
Belial, in act more graceful and humane; 



92 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



A fairer person lost not heaven ; he seem'd 
For dignity composed, and high exploit : 
But all was false and hollow ; though his tongue 
Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear 
The better reason. 

■55- * * * * 

Who would lose, 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being — 
Those thoughts that wander through eternity ? 

Book II. 

All night the dread less angel, unpursued 

Through heaven's wide champaign, held his way, till Morn, 

Waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand 

Unbarred the gates of light. 

* * * * * 

Gladly then he mix'd 
Among those friendly powers, who him received 
With joy and acclamations loud, that one, 
That of so many myriads fall'n, yet one 
Return' d not lost. On to the sacred hill 
They led him, high applauded, and present 
Before the seat supreme ; from whence a voice, 
From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard : 
" Servant of God, well done ; well hast thou fought 
The better fight, who single hast maintain'd 
Against revolted multitudes the cause 
Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms ; 
And for the testimony of truth hast borne 
Universal reproach ; far worse to bear 
Than violence ; for this was all thy care, 
To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds 
Judged thee perverse." 

Book VI. 

From Samson Agonistes. 

But peace! I must not quarrel with the will 
Of highest dispensation, which herein 
Haply had ends above my reach to know: 
Suffices that to me strength is my bane, 
And proves the source of all my miseries : 
So many and so huge, that each apart 
Would ask a life to wail; but chief of all, 
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain ! 



LITERATURE OF MILTON'S TIME. 



93 



Blind among enemies, O worse than chains, 

Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age! 

Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, 

And all her various objects of delight 

Annul I'd, which might in part my grief have eased, 

Inferior to the vilest now become 

Of man or worm ; the vilest here excel me : 

They creep, yet see ; I, dark in light, exposed 

To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong, 

'Within doors or without, still as a fool, 

In power of others, never in my own ; 

Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. 

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 

Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 

Without all hope of day ! 

O first-created Beam, and thou great Word, 

" Let there be light, and light was over all ; " 

Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree ? 

The sun to me is dark, 

And silent as the moon, 

When she deserts the night, 

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 

Since light so necessary is to life, 

And almost life itself, if it be true 

That light is in the soul, 

She all in every part; why was this sight 

To such a tender ball as the eye confined, 

So obvious and so easy to be quench'd? 

And not, as feeling, through all parts diffused, 

That she might look at will through every pore? 

Then had I not been thus exiled from light, 

As in the land of darkness, yet in light, 

To live a life half dead, a living death, 

And buried ; but, yet more miserable ! 
Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave ; 
Buried, yet not exempt, 
By privilege of death and burial 
From worst of other evils, pains, and wrongs ; 
But made hereby obnoxious more 
To all the miseries of life. 
Life in captivity 
Among inhuman foes. 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



Sonnet on his own Blindness. 

When I consider how my light is spent 

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent which is death to hide, 

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest He, returning, chide ; 
" Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ? " 

I fondly ask : but Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not need 

Either man's work, or his own gifts ; who best 

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best ; his state 
Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed, 

And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; 

They also serve who only stand and wait." 

SAMUEL BUTLER. 

From Hudibras. 

When civil dudgeon first grew high, 

And men fell out, they knew not why ; 

When hard words, jealousies, and fears, 

Set folks together by the ears ; 

When gospel-trumpeter, surrounded 

With long-ear' d rout, to battle sounded ; 

And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, 

Was beat with fist instead of a stick ; 

Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling, 

And out he rode a-colonelling. 

A wight he was, whose very sight would 

Entitle him mirror of knighthood, 

That never bow'd his stubborn knee 

To anything but chivalry, 

Nor put up blow, but that which laid 

Eight worshipful on shoulder-blade. 

* * * * -36- * 

We grant, although he had much wit, 

H' was very shy of using it, 

As being loath to wear it out, 

And therefore bore it not about ; 

Unless on holidays or so, 

As men their best apparel do. 



LITERATURE OF MILTON'S TIME. 



95 



Beside, 't is known he could speak Greek 
As naturally as pigs squeak ; 
That Latin was no more difficile 
Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle. 

* * * * * * 
He was in logic a great critic, 

Profoundly skill' d in analytic : 

He could distinguish, and divide 

A hair 'twixt south and south-west side; 

All this by syllogism true, 

In mood and figure he would do. 

For rhetoric, he could not ope 

His mouth, but out there flew a trope : 

And when he happen'd to break off 

In th' middle of his speech, or cough, 

H' had hard words ready to show why, 

And tell what rules he did it by ; 

Else when with greatest art he spoke, 

You'd think he talk'd like other folk; 

* - * * * •* * 
Did they for this draw down the rabble 
With zeal and noises formidable ; 

And make all cries about the town 
Join throats to cry the bishops down ? 

* * * * * * 
When tinkers * bawled aloud, to settle 
Church discipline, for patching kettle. 
The oyster women locked their fish up, 
And trudged away, to cry Xo Bishop, 

A strange harmonious inclination 
Of all degrees to reformation. 

JEREMY TAYLOR. 

On Prayer. 

Prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, the 
evenness of recollection, the seat of meditation, the rest of our cares, 
and the calm of our tempests. Prayer is the issue of a quiet mind, of 
untroubled thoughts ; it is the daughter of charity and the sister of 
meekness ; and he that prays to God with an angry, that is, with a 

* Bimyan was a " tinker " by trade, and one of the most eloquent preachers among 
the ^on-conformists. 



96 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



troubled and discomposed, spirit, is like him that retires into a battle 
to meditate, and sets up his closet in the out-quarters of an army, and 
chooses a frontier garrison to be wise in. Anger is a perfect alienation 
of the mind from prayer, and therefore is contrary to that attention 
which presents our prayers in a right line to God. For so have I seen 
a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, singing as he 
rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds ; but the 
poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, 
and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every 
breath of the tempest than it could recover by the libration and fre- 
quent weighing of his wings ; till the little creature was forced to sit 
down and pant, and stay till the storm was over ; and then it made a 
prosperous flight, and did rise and sing as if it had learned music and 
motion from an angel, as he passed sometimes through the air about 
his ministries here below : so is the prayer of a good man : when his 
affairs have required business, and his business was matter of discipline, 
and his discipline was to pass upon a sinning person, or had a design 
of charity, his duty met with the infirmities of a man, and anger was 
its instrument, and the instrument became stronger than the prime 
agent, and raised a tempest, and overruled the man ; and then his 
prayer was broken, and his thoughts were troubled, and his words went 
up towards a cloud, and his thoughts pulled them back again, and made 
them without intention, and the good man sighs for his infirmity, but 
must be content to lose the prayer, and he must recover it when his 
anger is removed, and his spirit is becalmed, made even as the brow of 
Jesus, and smooth like the heart of God ; and then it ascends to heaven 
upon the wings of the holy dove, and dwells with God, till it returns, 
like the useful bee, laden with a blessing and the dew of heaven. 

On Toleration. 
Any zeal is proper for religion but the zeal of the sword and the zeal 
of anger : this is the bitterness of zeal, and it is a certain temptation to 
every man against his duty ; for if the sword turns preacher, and dic- 
tates propositions by empire instead of arguments, and engraves them 
in men's hearts with a poniard, that it shall be death to believe what I 
innocently and ignorantly am persuaded of, it must needs be unsafe to 
try the spirits, to try all things, to make inquiry ; and yet, without this 
liberty, no man can justify himself before God or man, nor confidently 
say that his religion is best. This is inordination of zeal ; for Christ, by 
reproving St. Peter drawing his sword even in the cause of Christ, for 
his sacred and yet injured person, teaches us not to use the sword, though 
in the cause of God, or for God himself. 



LITERATURE OF MILTON'S TIME. 



97 



When Abraham sat at his tent door, according to his custom, wait- 
ing to entertain strangers, he espied an old man, stooping and leaning 
on his staff, weary with age and travail, coming towards him, who was 
a hundred years of age. He received him kindly, washed his feet, pro- 
vided supper, caused him to sit down ; but observing that the old man 
eat, and prayed not, nor begged for a blessing on his meat, he asked 
him why he did not worship the God of heaven. The old man told 
him that he worshipped the fire only, and acknowledged no other God. 
At which answer Abraham grew so zealously angry that he thrust the 
old man out of his tent, and exposed him to all the evils of the night, 
and an unguarded condition. When the old man was gone, God called 
to Abraham, and asked him where the stranger was. He replied, I 
thrust him away because he did not worship thee. God answered him, 
I have suffered him these hundred years, although he dishonored me ; 
and couldst not thou endure him one night ? 

Upon this, saith the story, Abraham fetched him back again, and 
gave him hospitable entertainment and wise instruction. Go thou and 
do likewise, and thy charity will be rewarded by the God of Abraham. 

JOHN BUNYAN. 

From Pilgrim's Progress. 

Now, I saw in my dream that these two men went in at the gate ; and 
lo, as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had raiment put on 
that shone like gold. There were also that met them with harps and 
crowns, and gave to them the harps to praise withal, and the crowns in 
token of honor. Then I heard in my dream that all the bells in the 
city rang again for joy, and that it was said unto them, " Enter ye into 
the joy of your Lord." I also heard the men themselyes, that they sang 
with a loud voice, saying, " Blessing, honor, and glory, and power be to 
Him that sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb, forever and ever." 

Now, just as the gates were opened to let in the men, I looked in after 
them, and behold, the city shone like the sun ; the streets, also, were 
paved with gold, and in them walked many men with crowns on their 
heads, palms in their hands, and golden harps, to sing praises withal. 

There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one 
another without intermission, saying, " Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord." 
And after that they shut up the gates ; which when I had seen, I wished 
myself among them. 

Now, while I was gazing upon all these things, I turned my head to 
look back, and saw Ignorance coming up to the river side ; but he soon 
got over, and that without half the difficulty which the other two men 
9 G 



98 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



met with. For it happened that there was then in that place one Vain- 
Hope, a ferryman, that with his boat helped him over ; so he, as the 
other, I saw, did ascend the hill, to come up to the gate, only he came 
alone ; neither did any man meet him with the least encouragement. 
When he was coming up to the gate, he looked up to the writing that 
was above, and then began to knock, supposing that entrance should 
have been quickly administered to him ; but he was asked by the men 
that looked over the top of the gate, Whence come you, and what would 
you have? He answered, " I have eat and drank in the presence of the 
King, and he has taught in our streets/' Then they asked for his cer- 
tificate, that they might go in and show it to the King ; so he fumbled 
in his bosom for one and found none. Then said they, You have none ! 
but the man answered never a word. So they told the King, but he 
would not come down to see him, but commanded the two shining ones 
that conducted Christian and Hopeful to the city to go out and take 
Ignorance, and bind him hand and foot, and have him away. Then they 
took him up, and carried him through the air to the door that I saw on 
the side of the hill, and put him in there. Then I saw that there was 
a way to hell, even from the gates of heaven, as well as from the City 
of Destruction. " So I awoke, and behold it was a dream." 

Syllabus. 

The Commonwealth of England lasted from 1649 to 1660. It was the 
Puritan age of the government. The Puritan influence in literature began 
to be felt long before. 

With the accession of the Stuarts troubles began. Their main belief was 
in the Divine Pdght of Kings. James and Charles were both unpopular. 
The latter was beheaded in 1649. Cromwell and the Parliament assumed 
control of the government, and Milton, by his pen, directed the feelings 
of the new republic. 

Milton was the leading spirit of the republic. He gave the best years of 
his life to his country, writing on liberty — liberty of conscience, of govern- 
ment, and of the press. His life, in reference to his literary works, may be 
divided into three periods : the first, embracing his earlier lighter poems ; 
the second, embracing his prose works — all written for the good of his 
country — and the last, the period in which he wrote Paradise Lost, etc. 

Izaak Walton wrote the Complete Angler. 

In theology, the prominent names are Jeremy Taylor, Richard Baxter, 
John Bunyan, and George Fox. 

The Bible was the Puritans' guide in literature, as well as in daily life. 
Its very language was used in their writings and conversation. 



CHAPTER VII. 



The Restoration. 

1660—1700. 

ITH the restoration of the Stuarts,* and absolute monarchy, 



t Y a reactionary tide set in. The Puritan restraint removed, 
it was like the breaking away of a mighty dam, when the pent- 
up torrent dashes headlong in its wild career, bearing every- 
thing before it in indiscriminate ruin. The tide of feeling and 
action that now overran the Puritan landmarks was not an 
angry torrent, but as impetuous and much more dangerous 
because alluring in its aspect. It was the mad rush of licen- 
tious pleasures. The sober livery of the Puritan was exchanged 
for the flaunting robes of the reveller. 

It was the age of Louis XIV. in France — brilliant, witty, li- 
centious. Charles II. , in his exile, had been a guest in the court 
of Louis, and an apt scholar in the unlawful pleasures that 
marked French society at that time. Eestored to the throne 
of England, he tried to introduce into his own all the gayeties 
of the French Court. The English character, by nature, is 
thoughtful and serious, the reverse of the French, so that the 
adoption of the manners of that lively nation set but ill upon 
the plain,, blunt Englishman. Carried away, however, in the 
tide of unlawful pleasures, he could not see that, in the eyes of 
other nations, he was making of himself a mere mountebank to 
be jeered at and despised. 




* Charles II., son of Charles I., ascended the throne in 1660, at the end of the Com- 
monwealth. 

99 



100 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Pepys, who had some office in the king's service, and kept a 
Diary, gives us some vivid descriptions of the times. He tells 
us : 

"July 31st, 1666. — The court empty, the King being gone to Tun- 
bridge, and the Duke of York a-hunting, I had some discourse with 
Povy, who is mightily discontented, I find, about his disappointments at 
Court, and says, of all places, if there be hell, it is here. No faith, no 
truth, no love, nor any agreement between man and wife, nor friends." 

In consequence of the unrestrained, luxuriant, and foul modes 
of living, it is not surprising that one of the greatest plagues 
that ever fell upon mankind visited London. It was followed 
the next year (1666) by one of the most terrible fires that ever 
devastated a city. Of the ravages made by both, Pepys gives 
minute details in his Diary. The plague is still raging when 
he gives the following account of the ordinary pleasures, which 
not even the presence of universal death could abate. 

" August 14th, 1666. — After dinner, with my wife and Mercer, to the 
beare-garden, and saw some good sport of the bulls tossing of the dogs, 
and one into the very boxes. But it is a very rude and nasty pleasure. 
. . . We supped at home and very merry ; and then about nine 
o'clock to Mrs. Mercer's gate, where the fire and boys expected us, and 
her son had provided abundance of serpents and rockets, and there 
mighty merry till twelve o'clock at night, flinging our fireworks, and 
burning one another and the people over the way. At last we into 
Mrs. Mercer's, and there mighty merry, smutting one another with 
candle-grease and soot till most of us were like devils. That done, 
we broke up and to my house, and there I made them drink, and Mer- 
cer danced a jig, and Nan Wright, and my wife, and Pegg Pen put on 
perriwigs. Thus till three or four in the morning, mighty merry." 

The Duke of York, brother to the king, much to the scandal 
of court circles, had married Ann Hyde, daughter of the Earl 
of Clarendon. They had two daughters, Mary and Anne. The 
former married William of Nassau, the latter, George of Den- 
mark. After the death of Anne Hyde, his first wife, James 
married Mary of Modena. Their son Avas afterwards known in 
history as the Pretender. 

Charles II. died in 1685, and was succeeded by his brother, 
the Duke of York, afterwards James II. Becoming unpopu- 
lar with the English people, he was, in 1688, compelled to 



THE RESTORATION. 



101 



abdicate in favor of his daughter Mary and her husband Wil- 
liam of Orange. The latter was invited over from Holland to 
take the reins of English government. This result was not ac- 
complished without bloodshed, and is known in English History 
as the Revolution. Protestantism was now firmly established. 

With the state of society such as has been described, it is not 
difficult to imagine the character of the literature. " The 
reigning taste," says Macaulay, "was so bad that the success 
of a writer was in inverse proportion to his labor, and to his 
desire for excellence." 

The theatres, which during the Puritan government were 
closed, were now reopened, not to give life again to Shake- 
speare's grand plays, but to admit a drama so corrupt that it 
would have shocked the ruder age of Shakespeare. 

Pepys says : "Aug. 20th, 1666 .—To Deptford by water, reading Othello, 
Moore of Venice, which I ever heretofore esteemed a mighty good 
play, but having so lately read 'The Adventures of Five Hours/ it seems 
a mean thing." 

So corrupt was the general taste, that Shakespeare's plays, 
to please, must be adapted to the low instincts of the time. It 
was during the reign of Charles II. that women first appeared 
as actresses. 

Says Pepys, " Bee. 28th, 1667.— To the King's house, and there saw 
< The Mad Couple/ which is but an ordinary play ; but only Nell's * 
and Hart's mad parts are most excellent done, but especially hers ; 
which makes it a miracle to me to think how ill she do any serious part, 
and in a mad part do beyond all imitation almost." 

Movable scenery, decorations, lights, music, and other ex- 
ternal attractions were added to the stage, and here were re- 
flected the morals and manners of the age ; vice was crowned 
and virtue deemed a mere pretence. 

Untrue to itself, the English head and brain could produce 
nothing but deformities. The carnival of pure imagination 
was over.f 



* Nell Gywnn. 

f "Poetry," says Macaulay, "inflamed the passions; philosophy undermined the 
principles; divinity, itself inculcating an abject reverence for the court, gave addi- 
tional effect to its licentious example." 
9* 



102 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



The fire of genius that had illuminated the early part of the 
Elizabethan period grew cold towards the latter part of that 
age, producing dull, unmeaning poetry, with only here and there 
a gleam of poetic fire. Milton came and created for himself a 
new realm. He died and left no heir to his imperial throne. 

Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, had written without 
rules of art. Each was a law unto himself. Superior genius 
guided these great originals more unerringly than all a rheto- 
rician's rules. But now the spirit of the times was seeking 
methods— methods in art, methods in science, politics, and 
religion. The spirit was universal. In France the first school 
of criticism in poetry was established, under the influence of 
Boileau and other great French writers of this age. 

DRYDEN. 

To John Dryden (1631-1700) is attributed the establishment 
of a correct style in English composition. He disclaimed, how- 
ever, receiving impulse or aid from contemporary writers in 
France, but claimed to have returned to the first models of 
classic style. Being but a second-rate poet, his genius con- 
structed but did not create. This teaching, as will be seen in 
the following chapter, was carried so far by Pope and others 
that the art of polishing became of more importance than the 
art of creating, or 4 1 making. ' ' 

Dry den's conscience was an easy one, permitting him to drift 
or float with the popular tide. Of his dramas he says he 
" wrote bad enough to please." His poems celebrate the 
heroes of the day. In 1658 he writes a lamentation for Crom- 
well, and in two years after hails, with the inconstant crowd, 
the accession of Charles II. He writes epistles which are 
merely exaggerated flatteries ; and satires, directed not against 
an existing evil, but against personal enemies, or those less 
gifted than himself. In argument he especially shone, and 
acquired a remarkable power of reasoning in verse. His relig- 
ious sentiments were as abiding as his political tenets. He was 
whatever his worldly interests demanded. During the Protec- 
torate, his family being connected with the Puritans, he gave no 
evidence of another faith. With the Kestoration, he attached 
himself to the Church of England, and was a warm adherent. 



THE RESTORATION. 



103 



When James II. ascended the throne, Dry den became as ardent 
in his Catholic faith, not, perhaps, foreseeing that the revolu- 
tion establishing Protestantism was so soon to follow. With 
that event, he had not the face to turn again, so in William and 
Mary's reign he simply lost his laureateship. D^den, how- 
ever, was but the type of his age. Milton was the type of a 
man for any age. 

What Dry den might have been had he made the best use of 
his talents, is suggested by the marked growth in his writings, 
viewed in chronological order. He never put forth his best or 
greatest power, except, perhaps, once, when he wrote his last 
great poem, Alexander' ] s Feast, 

Dryden's first poem, except a few school performances, was 
written On the Death of Oliver Cromwell. In 1660 appeared his 
Astrea Bedax, a poem on the Happy Eestoration and Eeturn 
of his Sacred Majesty Charles II., who, 

" Tossed by fate, and hurried up and down, 
Heir to his father's sorrows, with his crown, 
Could taste no sweets of youths' desired age ; 
But found his life too true a pilgrimage. 
Uuconquered yet in that forlorn estate, 
His manly courage overcame his fate. 

* * * * # 
As souls reach heaven while yet in bodies pent, 
So did he live above his banishment. 

* * * * * 
And viewing monarch's secret arts of sway, 
A royal factor for his kingdoms lay. 

Thus banish' d David spent abroad his time, 
When to be God's anointed was his crime" 

Other panegyrics followed this, and in 1667 appeared his 
Annus Mirabilis— the Year of Wonders (1666), the great events 
being the war with Holland and the great fire. The same year 
Dryden published his celebrated Essay on Dramatic Poetry, in 
which he advocates the use of rhyme in tragedy, ignoring the 
fact that the French had adopted it. Absalom and Achitophel 
is a satire especially aimed against the Earl of Shaftesbury, for 
the part he took in trying to secure the throne to the Duke of 
Monmouth, an illegitimate son of Charles II., and for his de- 



104 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 

termined opposition to the Duke of York's succession to the 
throne, or to the accession of any Catholic heir. In this poem 
Charles II. figures as David, the Duke of Monmouth as Absa- 
lom, the Earl of Shaftesbury as Achitophel. 

MacFlecknoe was a satire against Shadwell, an inferior dram- 
atist of the time, who had attacked Dryden previously in a 
rhymed address. MacFlecknoe is represented as choosing 
Shadwell as his successor to the throne of Dulness ; for 

" Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he 
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. 
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, 
But Shadwell never deviates into sense. 
* * * * * 

Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command 
Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. 
There thou may'st wings display and altars raise, 
And torture one poor word a thousand ways." 

A poem entitled Beligio Laid, or A Layman's Faith, appeared 
the same year, and is usually regarded as a defence of the 
Church of England against the Dissenters. It appears, how- 
ever, rather as an inquiry into religion, and seems the most 
earnest and ingenuous of all Dryden's writings upon such sub- 
jects. 

When James's policy became fully known, Dryden became an 
avowed Catholic, and wrote a defence for the Catholic religion, 
entitled The Hind and Panther. 

In 1688 the Eevolution placed the Protestant William and 
Mary upon the throne, and Dryden wrote no more political 
satires. He contented himself with Translations, and a series 
of Fables, as they were called— stories from Chaucer and Boc- 
caccio. His most important translation was Virgil's JEneid. 

Three years before his death he wrote an Ode for St. Cecilia'' s 
Day, entitled Alexander's Feast. It was written at the request 
of a musical society, for their celebration of the nativity of the 
patron saint of music. Struck out by the poet in the white 
heat of his imagination, it is by far the best of any of his poems. * 



* He said, " I have been so struck with the subject which occurred to me, that I 
could not leave it till I had completed it. Here it is, finished at one sitting." 



THE RESTORATION. 



105 



It is a masterpiece in boldness of imagery and in musical adap- 
tation. 

Bryden continued to write for the stage during most of his 
life. His first comedy, The Wild Gallant, was not a success. 
Dryden's muse was by no means a comic one. He was by 
nature reserved and taciturn. He says of himself: 

" My conversation is slow and dull, my humor saturnine and unre- 
served. In short, I am none of those who break jests in company and 
make repartees.' 7 

It was the Golden Age of French literature, enriched by the 
tragedies of Corneille and Eacine, and the comedies of Moliere. 
In England the spirit of the Shakespearian drama was dead, and 
the corrupt representations of Dryden's time are classed under 
the title of The New Drama, or more truly the Corrupt Drama. - 

Dryden's principal plays are The Bival Ladies, The Indian 
Emperor, The Conquest of Granada, Marriage a la Mode, The 
Spanish Friar, All for Love, and Aureng-Zebe. The Indian 
Queen was written in conjunction with his brother-in-law, Sir 
Robert Howard, and is in rhymed couplets. 

Dryden may be regarded as the founder of the classical or 
artificial school of poets, or as the connecting link between the 
imaginative, natural school of Elizabethan writers, and the 
stiff, artificial school of Pope. 

Although, at a first glance, reckless gayety and dissolute 
abandonment seem, alone, to mark the age, there existed a 
strong undercurrent of healthful feeling prompting to inquiry 
in Science, Religion, and Politics. 

The Royal Society was established in 1662, which fact of 
itself was an indication of the popularity of scientific studies. 
The great names in science were Newton, Locke, and Boyle. 



* A check was given to the corruptions of the stage by the single-handed, well- 
directed blows of a clergyman, Jeremy Collier (1650-1726), who bravely faced the 
popular current, and openly denounced the immoralities of the stage. In his Short 
View of the Profaneness and Immorality of the English Stage, he especially denounced 
Dryden, Wycherly, and Congreve. The last two undertook a defence, but Dryden 
acknowledged the justice of the application, and, in his preface to his Fables, says of 
Jeremy Collier : — " In many things he has taxed me justly ; and I have pleaded 
guilty to all thoughts and expressions of mine which can be truly argued of obscen- 
ity, profaneness or immorality, and retract them." After this controversy a better 
tone was given to the lighter literature of the day. 



106 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727) was the great light of the 
age in science. His discoveries were mainly in mechanics, 
astronomy, and optics. His theory of the universe was writ- 
ten in Latin and entitled the Principia.* The philosophical 
writer of this period, who has contributed most to literature, is 
John Locke (1632-1704). His Essay on Human TJyxderstand- 
ing was the first attempt to popularize the study of mental 
science or metaphysics. t 

With the accession of William and Mary the claim of the 
"divine right of kings" ended, and the House of Commons 
obtained supreme power, t 

Illustrations of the Literature of the Restoration. 

DRYDEN. 

An Ode in Honor of St. Cecilia's \ Day. 
Alexander's Feast. 
'T was at the royal feast, for Persia won, 
By Philip's warlike son: 
Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 
On his imperial throne: 

* Newton was made president of the Royal Society in 1703, and was knighted by 
Queen Anne in 1705. 

f The Diaries of John Evelyn (1620-1705) and Samuel Pepys (1632-1703) have been 
the means of throwing much light upon the public and private manners of the time. 
They were not discovered, at least not published, till more than a hundred years 
after the death of the writers. John Evelyn was one of the earliest members of the 
Royal Society, and wrote for it several treatises. Of these his Sylva, or Forest Trees, 
is most noted. Pepys' Diary extends from the year 1659 to 1669. It is an invalua- 
ble aid in the study of the history of this period, presenting, as it does, in the most 
natural and unconscious manner, the actors in the stage of real life. The style is 
quaint and chatty. We learn the private details of his own household and the pub- 
lic and private news of the court ; we grow interested with him in the extent and 
variety of his toilet, or in his wife's domestic difficulties ; as well as in the proceed- 
ings of the Royal Society or the politics of the nation. Pepys was a faithful public 
servant. For a number of years he was Secretary of the Admiralty. 

% It was during the political troubles of the reign of Charles II., that the terms 
" Whig" and " Tory " originated, designating respectively the upholders of popular 
power, and the supporters of the King. The term " Jacobite " was given to the fol- 
lowers of James II. and the two Pretenders. 

§ St. Cecilia, the patroness of sacred music. To her is ascribed, also, the invention 
of the organ. 



LITER ATTIRE OF THE RESTORATION. 



107 



His valiant peers were plac'd around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound ; 

So should desert in arms be crown' d. 
The lovely Thai's by his side 
Bat, like a blooming Eastern bride, 
In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 

Happy, happy, happy pair ; 
Xone but the brave. 
Xone but the brave, 

Xone but the brave deserve the fair. 

Timotheus,* plac'd on high 

Amid the tuneful quire, 

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre; 

The trembling notes ascend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. 
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ; 
"A present deity!" they shout around; 
"A present deity!" the vaulted roofs rebound: 

With ravish' d ears 

The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod. 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung. 
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young : 
" The jolly god in triumph comes ; 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums : 
Flush'd with a purple grace 
He shows his honest face. 
Now, give the hautboys breath ; he comes ! he comes ! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
Drinking joys did first ordain : 
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: 
Eich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain." 



* A famous poet and musician in the time of Alexander. 



108 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain : 
Fought all his battles o'er again : 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 
The master saw the madness rise ; 
His glowing cheek-, his ardent eye- : 
And, while he heav'n and earth defied, 
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride. 
He chose a mournful muse. 
Soft pity to infuse : 
He sung, " Darius great and good. 
By too severe a fate 
Fall'n, fall'n. fall'n, 
Fall'n from his high estate. 
And welt'ring in his blood; 
Deserted at his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed, 
On the bare earth exposed he lies. 
With not a friend to close his eyes." 

With downcast look the joyless victor sate, 
Revolving in his alter'd soul 

The various turns of fate below ; 
And now and then a sigh he stole, 
And tears began to flow. 

The mighty master smil'd to see 
That love was in the next degree : 
'Twas but a kindred sound to move: 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet in Lydian measures. 
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures; 
"War.*' he sung, "is toil and trouble: 
Honor but an empty bubble ; 

Xever ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still, and still destroying ; 

If the world be worth thy winning. 
Think. think it worth enjoying ! 
Lovely Thai's sits beside thee. 
Take the good the gods provide thee.'' 
The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
So love was crown'd, but music won the cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain. 



LITERATURE OF THE RESTORATION. 



Gaz'd on the fair 
Who caus'd his care, 

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again. 
At length, with love and wine at once oppress' d, 
The vanquish' d victor sunk upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again ; 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. 
Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark! hark! the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head, 
As awak'd from the dead, 
And, amaz'd, he stares around. 
"Kevenge! revenge!" Timotheus cries-, 
" See the Furies arise ; 
See the snakes that they rear! 
How they hiss in the air, 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! 
Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand! 
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain; 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew: 
Behold how they toss their torches on high ! 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!" 
The Princes applaud, with a furious joy ; 
And the king seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy ; 
Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey, 
And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. 

Thus long ago, 
Ere heaving bellows learn' d to blow, 
While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
10 



110 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



At last divine Cecilia came, 

Inventress of the vocal frame 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 

Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, 

And added length to solemn sounds, 
With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown before. 

Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 
Or both divide the crown: 

He rais'd a mortal to the skies; 
She drew an angel down. 

On Milton.* 

Three poets in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. 
The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd ; 
The next in majesty; in both the last. 
The force of nature could no further go; 
To make a third, she join'd the other two. 

LOCKE. 

We are born with faculties and powers capable almost of anything, 
such, at least, as would carry us farther than can be easily imagined ; 
but it is only the exercise of those powers which give us ability and 
skill in any thing, and leads us towards perfection. 

A middle-aged ploughman will scarce ever be brought to the carriage 
and language of a gentleman, though his body be as well proportioned, 
and his joints as supple, and his natural parts not any way inferior. 
The legs of a dancing-master, and the fingers of a musician, fall, as it 
were, naturally, without thought or pains, into regular and admirable 
motions. Bid them change their parts, and they will in vain endeavor 
to produce like motions in the members not used to them, and it will 
require length of time and long practice to attain but some degrees of a 
like ability. What incredible and astonishing actions do we find rope- 
dancers and tumblers bring their bodies to ! not but that sundry in 
almost all manual arts are as wonderful ; but I name those which the 
world takes notice of for such, because, on that very account, they give 
money to see them. All these admired motions, beyond the reach and 
almost the conception of unpractised spectators, are nothing but the 
mere effects of use and industry in men, whose bodies have nothing 
peculiar in them from those of the amazed lookers on. 



* Printed under a portrait of Milton prefixed to Paradise Lost, folio 1688. 



LITERATURE OF THE RESTORATION. 



Ill 



As it is in the body, so it is in the mind ; practice makes it what it 
is ; and most even of those excellencies which are looked on as natural 
endowments, will be found, when examined into more narrowly, to be 
the product of exercise, and to be raised to that pitch only by repeated 
actions. 

Nature commonly lodges her treasures and jewels in rocky ground. 
If the matter be knotty, and the sense lies deep, the mind must stop and 
buckle to it, and stick upon it with labor and thought, and close con- 
templation, and not leave it until it has mastered the difficulty and got 
possession of truth. But here, care must be taken to avoid the other 
extreme ; a man must not stick at every useless nicety, and expect mys- 
teries of science in every trivial question or scruple that he may raise. 
He that will stand to pick up and examine every pebble that comes in 
his way, is as unlikely to return enriched and laden with jewels, as the 
other that travelled full speed. Truths are not the better nor the worse 
for their obviousness or difficulty, but their value is to be measured by 
their usefulness and tendency. Insignificant observations should not 
take up any of our minutes ; and those that enlarge our view, and give 
light towards further and useful discoveries, should not be neglected, 
though they stop our course, and spend some of our time in a fixed 
attention. 

JOHN EVELYN. 

From his Diary. 

The Last Sunday of Charles II. 

I can never forget the inexpressible luxury, and profaneness, gaming 
and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God — it being 
Sunday evening — which this day se'en night I was witness of — the king 
sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, and 
Mazarin, e^c, a French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery, 
whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons 
were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least £1000 in gold 
before them, upon which two gentlemen who were with me made re- 
flections with astonishment. Six days after, all was in the dust. 

SAMUEL PEPYS. 

From his Diaky. 

Sept. Isty 1660. — I did send for a cup of tee (a China drink) of which 
I never had drank before. 

Oct, 20th. — I dined with my Lord and Lady ; he was very merry and 



112 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



did talk very high how he would have a French cooke, and a master 
of his horse, and his lady and child to wear black patches. * * * He 
is become a perfect courtier. * * * This afternoon going through Lon- 
don, and calling at Crowe's the Upholsterer's, I saw limbs of some of 
our new traytors set upon Aldersgate, which was a sad sight ; and a 
bloody week this and the last have been, there being ten hanged, drawn 
and quartered. 

Oct. 19th, 1662 (Lord's day). — Put on my first new lace band, and so 
neat it is, that I am resolved my great expense shall be lace bands, and 
it will set off anything else the more. I am sorry to hear that the news 
of the selling of Dunkirke is taken so generally ill, as I find it is among 
the merchants. 

Oct. 24th. — Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, tells me how ill things go at 
Court ; that the King do show no countenance to any that belong to the 
Queen. 

May 10th, 1663. — Put on a black cloth suit with white lynings under 
all, as the fashion is to wear, to appear under the breeches. 

19th. — Waked with a very high wind and said to my wife, " I pray 
God I hear not the death of any great person, this wind is so high ! " 
fearing that the Queen might be dead. So up and by coach to St. 
James's and hear that Sir W. Compton died yesterday. 

22d. — This morning, hearing that the Queene grows worse again, I 
sent to stop the making of my velvet cloak, till I see whether she lives 
or dies. 

March 13th, I664. — This day my wife began to wear light-colored locks, 
quite white almost, which, though it makes her look very pretty, yet 
not being natural, vexes me, that I will not let her wear them. 

August 7th. — I saw several poor creatures carried by, by constables, for 
being at a conventicle. They go like lambs, without any resistance. 
I would to God they would either conform, or be more wise, "and not be 
catched. 

August 31st, 1665. — It is feared that the true number of the dead this 
week is near ten thousand, partly from the poor that cannot be taken 
notice of, through the greatness of the number, and partly from the 
Quakers and others, that will not have any bell ring for them. 

23d, — In the street did overtake two women crying and carrying a 
man's coffin between them, I suppose the husband of one of them, 
which, methinks, is a sad thing. 

November 20th, 1666. — To church, it being thanksgiving day for the 
cessation of the plague; but, Lord! how the town do say that it is 



SYLLABUS. 



113 



hastened before the plague is quite over, there being some people still 
ill of it, but only to get ground of plays to be quickly acted, which the 
bishops would not suffer till the plague was over. 

February 2d, 1667. — I am very well pleased this night with reading a 
poem I brought home with me last night from Westminster Hall, of 
Dryden's, upon the present war ; a very good poem. 

March 2d, 1667. — After dinner with my wife to the King's house to see 
the " Mayden Queene," a new play of Dryden's, mightily commended 
for the regularity of it, and the strain of wit ; and the truth is, there is 
a comical part done by Nell, which is Florimell, that I never can hope 
ever to see the like done again by man or woman. The King and Duke 
of York were at the play. But so great a performance of a comical part 
was never, I believe, in the world before as Nell do this, both as a mad 
girle, then most and best of all when she comes in like a young gallant, 
and hath the motions and carriage of a spark the most that ever I saw 
any man have. It makes me, I confess, admire her. 

December 29th, 1667. — At night comes Mrs. Turner to see us ; and there, 
among other talk, she tells me that Mr. William Penn, who is lately 
come over from Ireland, is a Quaker again, or some very melancholy 
thing. 

May 30th, 1668. — Up and put on a new summer black bombazin suit ; 
and being come now to an agreement with my barber to keep my perri- 
wig in good order at 20s. a year, I am like to go very spruce, more than 
I used to do. To the King's Playhouse, and there saw " Philaster," 
where it is pretty to see how I could remember almost all along ever 
since I was a boy, Arethusa, the part which I was to have acted at Sir 
Kobert Cooke's ; and it was very pleasant to me, but more to think what 
a ridiculous thing it would have been for me to have acted a beautiful 
woman. 

Syllabus. 

The Puritan restraint was removed when Charles II. ascended the 
throne. He introduced into his court every luxury and sin. During his 
reign, London was visited by a terrible plague and a devastating fire. 
Charles was succeeded by his brother, James II., who, being a Catholic, 
was obliged to abdicate in favor of the Protestant William and Mary. 

The taste in literature was low. The theatres were now opened, but the 
drama was corrupt, Shakespeare's pla^s ceasing to please. The Drama of 
this time is called the Corrupt Drama. A check was given to its progress 
by Jeremy Collier, a fearless clergyman. 
10* - H 



114 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton had had no guidance in 
writing but their own genius. This age sought methods,— rules. 
It was the Golden Age of French literature. 

Dryden was the founder, in England, of the artificial, critical school of 
writing. He was but a second-rate poet, and, being in character the type 
of the age, he drifted with the popular current. No greater contrast could 
be presented than the characters of Dryden and Milton. Dryden might 
have been great, if he had cared to be better than the times. 

Notwithstanding the depravity of the age, science was developing. Sir 
Isaac Newton was the great light of the age. Locke was a great meta- 
physician. 



POPE, 



CHAPTER VIII. 
The Augustan Age. 

1700—1727. 

THE period of literature now to be considered is usually 
styled the " Augustan Age," but in brilliancy of creative 
genius it can, in no respect, be compared with the Elizabethan 
period, nor with the age immediately preceding its own ; and 
in no way did it resemble the Augustan age of Roman litera- 
ture but in the patronage extended to authors, who, by the 
partisan spirit of their writings, kept alive the name of ani- 
mosity which was raging between the political parties. 

The Revolution of 1688, which placed William and Mary on 
the throne, settled the British Constitution, defined the rights 
of the people and the prerogative of the King, and secured the 
Protestant Succession. At the death of William III., in 1702, 
Anne, the sister of Mary, succeeded to the throne. Her reign 
is distinguished by the military achievements of the Duke of 
Marlborough and the constitutional union of England and 
Scotland. Although since the first Stuart king of England 
(James I. of England and VI. of Scotland) these two coun- 
tries had acknowledged but one sovereign, their laws and 
Parliaments were distinct. In the new ratification the Scots 
were to send their commoners and peers to represent them in 
the English Parliament. Their own Presbyterian form of 
church government, their laws concerning property, and the 
administration of justice they were to retain inviolate. With 
the death of Anne in 1714 the Stuart line of kings was ended. 

115 



116 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Kot one of her numerous children survived her, and the throne 
passed to the head of the Protestant line of succession, George 
I., of the House of Brunswick, or Hanover, great grandson of 
James I. The accession of the German king was opposed by 
the Tory and Jacobite leaders, who still hoped to place a Stuart 
on the throne, and favored the cause of the Pretender, as the 
son of James II. was called. The Whigs, who advocated the 
rights of the people rather than the rights of the crown, favored 
the accession of the Hanoverian line. During this reign Sir 
Eobert Walpole became Prime Minister, and Whig rule pre- 
vailed. From 1721 to 1742 Walpole practically ruled England. 
During this reign the celebrated South Sea scheme originated, 
which, plausible as it seemed, was a fraudulent scheme, involv- 
ing the financial ruin of thousands. 

The Augustan age of literature, usually limited to the twelve 
years of Anne's reign, though in reality comprising both the 
reigns of Anne and George, is better termed the age of Pope 
or Addison. These two, with Steele and Swift, were the 
principal writers of the time. It was far from being an age of 
general intelligence. It was a sequel to the preceding age, a 
moulding of the forces which had sprung into existence in 
Dryden's time. Open indecency was checked, but covert im- 
morality practised. The flights of genius were curbed and 
made to conform to rule. The school of criticism begun by 
Dryden was, in this age, perfected by Pope. 

POPE. 

Alexander Pope (1688-1744), born twelve years before 
Dryden died, was a professed follower of Dryden. From his 
boyhood he cherished the most profound admiration for his 
chosen master, and it is curious to observe with what fidelity 
he copied and improved upon his original. Dryden wrote a 
prose essay on dramatic poetry ; Pope wrote, in verse, an 
Essay on Criticism. Dryden translated or reproduced some of 
Chaucer's poems, Pope as unsuccessfully tried the same. Dry- 
den translated Virgil ; Pope translated Homer. Dryden wrote 
MacFlecknoe, a satire upon Shadwell ; Pope wrote the Dunciad, 
a kindred satire, a continuation, as it were, of MacFlecknoe, 
making the object of his satire Theobald, and afterwards 



THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



117 



Colley Cibber, the successors of Shadwell to the throne of 
Dulness. * The most remarkable of Pope 's imitations of Dryden 
is his Ode on St. Cecilia/ s Day. 

Pope was by no means a servile copyist. He seemed merely 
to prefer walking in the paths which others had trodden, glean- 
ing what they had left untouched, and perfecting, as far as lay 
in his power, all that came under his hand. His strength lay 
in accuracy. He was not a poet of u imagination all compact. " 
His mission was to teach correctness. To perfect the art which 
his great pattern commenced was no doubt a congenial work to 
Pope, and how thoroughly he established a school of criticism 
and correctness can be read in all the writings of that age and 
the next. The publication, in 1711, of the Essay on Criticism, 
admitted Pope at once into the highest rank of authorship. 
This poem was suggested by Boileau's "Art of Poetry " (L'Art 
Poetique), and like that poem is compact with wise thoughts 
and terse expressions condensed into couplets. Following 
Boileau, Pope holds up as models of style the writers of the 
Augustan age of Eoman literature. The Essay on Man, pub- 
lished twenty years afterwards, takes a wider range of thought. 
But here again thought and fancy are made subservient to art, 
and are cribbed and confined within the narrow couplet. But 
the skill of the writer is all the more triumphantly exhibited in 
the fact that, notwithstanding these fetters, he expressed as 
much wisdom and sound philosophy as he did. The Rape of 
the Lock is a humorous poem, celebrating an unforgiven act of 
Lord Petre, a courtier in Queen Anne's train, for stealing a 
lock of hair from the fair head of a maid of honor. The style 
of the poem is mock heroic. Its dedication to the lady, Mrs. 
Arabella Fermor, gives a quaint picture of the times in its 
flattery and derision of the ignorant beauties of the court. 

Among Pope's earliest productions are his Pastorals, which 
he, it is said, considered his best efforts. Windsor Forest cele- 
brates the beauty of this early retreat of Pope, and the plan 
is borrowed from Denham's Cooper's Hill. His Messiah was 

* This, like most of Pope's satires, was engendered in bitterness. Theobald had, 
at the same time with Pope, brought out an edition of Shakespeare. Towards Colley 
Cibber, Pope had always an implacable dislike. By personal satires Pope submitted 
himself to the most humiliating warfare of words. Keenly sensitive to ridicule him- 
self, he made satire his weapon of retaliation. 



118 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



an adaptation of Virgil's Pollio. The Dying Christian to his 
Soul, an adaptation of the Emperor Adrian's Animula Vagula. 
Other poems were an imaginative Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, 
Epistle of Sappho to Phaon, and an Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady. 
He composed a great many Epitaphs and innumerable Satires 
and Epistles. His Imitations of Horace was among his last 
works. 

To be appreciated, Pope must be read by fragments. Each 
line or couplet is a gem — a crystallized thought. His finished 
style was attained only by incessant care and labor. He copied 
and recopied his verses, and alas ! smoothed and polished until 
all exuberance of fancy disappeared — until, in the words of Dr. 
Johnson, his page was u a velvet lawn, shaven by the scythe 
and levelled by the roller." 

Pope was born in London, of Eoman Catholic parents. Deli- 
cate from childhood, and of misshapen form, he grew up mor- 
bid and sensitive. From London the family removed to Wind- 
sor Forest, and after the death of his father, to Twickenham, 
which home became the object of the poet's love and attention. 
Here, until her death, he bestowed that tender care upon his 
mother, which was a fit return for her incessant devotion to 
him. Here he received his admiring friends,* and here he made 
lasting enemies ; for Pope, while the warmest and truest of 
friends, was the most irritable of authors. Lady Mary Wort- 
ley Montague, who was at one time one of Pope's most ad- 
mired literary friends, became at last his professed enemy, as 
he became hers. 

Swift and Pope lived on terms of intimacy all their lives, 
although when Swift was on a visit to Twickenham " he found 
that two sick friends could not live in the house together." 

The age was too keen and critical for poetry to thrive. It 
ignored the fact that it is genius, not art, that makes the poet,f 
hence the poets of this age are called the Artificial Poets. Their 
style, based upon the classical writers of antiquity, was fin- 



* His friendship for Miss Martha Blount, or Mrs. Martha Blount, as the etiquette 
of the time called unmarried ladies, was lifelong and romantic. 

f But few natural poets existed. One was Allan Ramsay (1686-1758), the son of a 
poor Scotch workman; another was John Gay (1688-1732). His principal works 
are The Beggars' Opera and Fables. 



THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



119 



ished, cold, and artificial. This style, inaugurated by Dryden, 
had been growing for half a century, and culminated in the 
reign of Queen Anne. jS"o sonnets were written during this 
period. The age was given over to satire and to classical imi- 
tations. 

Prose Writers. 
SWIFT, ADDISON, STEELE, ETC. 

This classical age, while too keen and critical for poetry, was 
an admirable school for prose. The very endeavor to express 
thoughts in clear, correct language, caused clearer and more 
accurate thinking. 

Among the most vigorous prose writers of this age was 
Jonathan Swift (1667-17.45). His principal vein was satire, 
and his ready pen was employed in the interest of Tory or 
Whig, as his whim or conviction favored. His undoubted 
genius and ability made him a powerful ally on whichever 
side the weight of his influence was cast, but his writings are 
disfigured by coarseness of the lowest order, so that, except for 
the unsurpassed wit, they are repellant to the taste of the 
present age. 

A willing dependent on the charity of others, never having 
acquired the manly spirit of self-support, we trace Swift through 
his childhood and early manhood, and find him under the roof 
of his distant relative, Sir William Temple, in the capacity of 
secretary to that gentleman. Quitting this home, he took orders 
in the Irish church, and, although ambitious of a bishopric, 
he never rose higher than to a deanery. He forestalled his 
advancement in the church by writing his Tale of a Tub* 

This was a satire on the three different forms of Church 
government — Eoman Catholic, represented by Peter ; Lutheran 
by Martin ; and Calvinists, or dissenting, by Jack. These three 
are brothers, to whom their father, in dying, had bequeathed 
each a coat. As time passes, the fashion of each coat changes, 
but is greatly modified by the character of the wearer. Peter 
covers his coat with tinsel and embroidery ; Martin makes com- 



* The title is in no way significant of the character of the work, but means simply 
an absurd story, the phrase having being used for that by English writers of a very 
early day. 



120 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



promises in the trimming of his ; while Jack impatiently tears 
off all the embroidery which, while under Peter's influence, he 
had put on, and in his violence tears off also some of the cloth 
of which the coat is made. 

While enjoying the patronage of Temple, Swift wrote his 
Battle of the Books, a witty satire on the opponents of Temple 
in a celebrated contest concerning the relative merits of the 
Ancient and Modern writers. 

Swift's duties as the Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, were not 
congenial, nor was he at all popular with the Irish people, un- 
til at last, by his powers as a combatant, he aroused them to 
oppose a measure of the English Parliament. This one act is 
usually lauded as the great deed of Swift's life, whereas, 
the truth stands simply thus : The Irish nation, unsupplied 
with proper coins for currency, had been using almost anything 
as a medium of exchange, until the English ministry gave to 
one William Wood a contract for coining a certain amount of 
copper money, to be put into immediate circulation in Ireland, 
which would certainly have been much better than the irregu- 
lar currenc}^ used before. But Swift, with his combative ge- 
nius and specious arguments, succeeded in inflaming the Irish 
people to such an extent against the English, and against Wood 
especially, that the act was repealed. Swift's letters against the 
act were published in a Dublin newspaper. They were signed 
U M. B. Drapier," but it was soon known that Swift was the 
author of them. They are known in literature as the Drapier 
Letters. 

Gulliver's Travels, the best known of all of Swift's works, is a 
satire on English politics, English people — in fact, a satire on 
the human race. 

Swift wrote innumerable " verses," but no poetry. His na- 
ture was at enmity with the genius of poetry. His rhymes are 
perfect, the measure complete, but they lack the one essential 
quality of true poetry — fine feeling and pure imagination. His 
Verses on my Own Death is a remarkable production of its 
kind.* 



* While at Sir William Temple's, Swift formed an attachment for a young girl to 
whom he stood in the relation of tutor, and to whom he gave the romantic name of 
" Stella." The attachment ripened with years, and nothing but the plea of insanity 



THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



121 



Like issuing from a noisome fen to the genial sunlight, is the 
transition from Swift to Joseph Addison (1672-1719). Al- 
though Swift had unquestionably the greater genius, he left 
no work of heart or head for which mankind to-day can be 
grateful. Addison, on the contrary, wrote to make others bet- 
ter. In short, he "made virtue fashionable," and that in an 
age which was polishing, not correcting, the vices of the pre- 
ceding age. He was not universal, scarcely broad, in his sym- 
pathies, nor was he profound in knowledge or wisdom. He 
had culture, pure classic tastes, and refined instincts, and he 
had, besides, a " message " to the world. 

In conjunction with Steele, he created a new species of lit- 
erature— the Periodical Essay. Steele began the Toiler in 1709, 
and Addison joined him in the Spectator early in 1711. The 
Tatter was a penny paper, published three times a week ; the 
Spectator was published daily, and was likewise a pemry paper, 
until a half-penny stamp duty raised its price to two pence. 
The Spectator excluded politics and devoted itself more to lit- 
erary discussions, rural studies, and thoughts on morals and 
manners. The wit of Addison was without bitterness. u He 
was," in the language of Macaulay, " the great satirist who 
alone knew how to use ridicule without abusing it, who, with- 
out inflicting a wound, effected a great social reform, and who 
reconciled wit and virtue after a long and disastrous separation, 
during which wit had been led astray by profligacy and virtue 
by fanaticism." 

The Spectator was represented as being under the direction 
of a club, and " Sir Eoger de Coverly, " the English country gen- 
tleman, was one of its imaginary members. This character, 

can excuse his inexplicable treatment of her. ISTor was Stella the only victim of 
Swift's selfish conduct. Another, whom in his romantic fancy he styled "'Vanessa," 
died literally of a broken heart. It is no wonder that, on the death of Stella, he said, 
" It is time for me to be out of the world." He became morbid, hating the sight of a 
human face, losing his memory, his ability to read or even to talk. He became a 
maniac, and at last utterly imbecile. Several instances are given of his knowledge 
of his approaching insanity. The most curious result of this knowledge was his 
singular will, in which he bequeathed £10,000 to build an asylum for the insane and 
for idiots. Yet even of that he jests in his Verses on my Own Death : 
" He gave the little wealth he had 

To build a house for fools and mad ; 

To shew, by one satiric touch, 

No nation needed it so much." 

11 



122 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



conceived by Steele, was usually filled out by Addison. The 
Spectator, as conducted by Steele and Addison, ended in 1712. 
Addison made an attempt to revive it shortly afterwards, but 
did not succeed for any length of time. Both Addison and 
Steele afterwards contributed largely to the Guardian, which 
succeeded the Spectator. Addison's political journals were the 
Freeholder and the Examiner, and even in these he preserved 
the tone of good breeding, gentleness, and moderation.* 

Addison's first literary attempts were in poetry. He had 
won distinction while at Oxford for his Latin verses, and on 
entering the literary world he made successful hits by dedica- 
tions to eminent men and by praises of their actions. He be- 
came at once the recipient of government patronage. At the 
death of William III., Whig support was for a while withdrawn 
from him, and he lived in u dignified poverty " in the garret of 
an obscure lodging in Haymarket. This turn of affairs was 
but temporary. The great battle of Blenheim was fought in 
1704, and the victorious English sought to immortalize the 
event and the great conqueror, the Duke of Marlborough. 
Addison was requested to celebrate in song the victory of 
Blenheim. He responded in his poem known as The Campaign. 
This established his reputation, and he was rewarded by an 
important office under the Whig ministry. 

One of Addison's earliest poems, An Account of the Greatest 
English Poets, shows him to be deficient not only in poetic fire, 
but in appreciation, as he fails to mention Shakespeare ! Some 
of his later poems, several short hymns, published in the Spec- 
tator, are admirable in thought and expression. Nothing could 
be finer than his Ode beginning, 

"The spacious firmament on high." 

Towards the end of Anne's reign, when party spirit was run- 
ning high, Addison produced his tragedy of Cato. Its popu- 
larity was immense, both Whig and Tory applauding, each 
thinking the sentiments of his own party were reflected in it ! 
The play is a grand poem, but has not sufficient natural emo- 
tion to make it a complete dramatic work. 

* " Addison's work was a great one, lightly done. The Spectator, the Guardian, 
and the Freeholder, in his hands, gave a better tone to manners, and a gentler one to 
political and literary criticism."— Rev. Stopford Brooke, M.A. 



THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



123 



Addison appears as a bright and shining light in the age in 
which he lived ; and yet his life would scarcely he approved in 
this age of " purer manners.*" He was by no means free from 
the vices of his time. 

Inseparably connected with the name of Addison stands that 
of Richard Steele (1671-1729). They were classmates as 
boys at the celebrated Charter-house school in London, and 
afterwards at Oxford, where they formed an enduring friend- 
ship. Steele was of a more volatile turn of mind. gay. affable, 
and ever ready in sympathy with human nature in even- 
aspect. He did not seek the patronage of the great, He was 
daring, wild, impulsive, given to pleasure, and reckless in its 
pursuit. In the wildest, most extravagant period of his life, he 
wrote his most serious work, entitled The Christian Hero. This, 
he said, was 44 principally to fix upon his mind a strong im- 
pression of virtue and religion, in opposition to a stronger pro- 
pensity to unwarrantable pleasures ! ? ' His next work was a 
comedy, The Funeral, or Grief a la Mode. This, also, was 
moral in its tone, conveying under the garb of humor a satire 
on the manners of the age. He also wrote other comedies. 
The Tender Husband, and the Conscious Lovers. 

Steele was intensely patriotic, and a Whig under all circum- 
stances. He loved truth and wrote in its behalf, even while 
his life presented such strange inconsistencies. For Addison 
he always maintained a species of reverence. 

Of the two hundred and seventy-one papers of which the 
Taller consists, Steele wrote more than two hundred, and Ad- 
dison the greater part of the remaining number. In the Spec- 
tator, Addison's papers are more numerous by far than Steele's. 
The Guardian was the last work in which the two friends 
joined. Steele did not originate a periodical review,* but gave 
dignity and popularity to the Essay , which, from its regular and 
appointed appearance in the Tatler. Spectator, etc., has been 
styled somewhat awkwardly the Periodical Essay. The essays 
of Bacon a hundred years before were models of condensed 
thought and expression ; the essays of Steele and Addison are 



* De Foe had established The Review, a tri-weekly journal, five years before the 
Tatler, devoting it to polities, literature, and to subjects of daily interest, and like- 
wise to satirizing the follies of the age. 



124 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



like the pleasant ripple of conversation. They talked to the 
public in the characters of the fine old country gentleman, 
"Sir Roger De Coverly," the retired merchant, u Sir Andrew 
Freeport," the courtly beau, " Will Honeycomb," and the old 
soldier, "Captain Sentry." 

The most independent writer of that time was Daniel De 
Foe (1661-1731). His Bobinson Crusoe antedated Swift's Gul- 
liver's Travels by seven years. Both were tales of daring and 
singular adventures. His Review antedated Steele's Tatler by 
five years, and if he is to take a rank among English novelists, 
he anticipated Richardson, the so-called father of the English 
novel, by twenty years. De Foe was a bold adherent of the 
Whigs, caring more for their liberal principles than for their 
party interests. His fearless and ironical writings sometimes 
gave offence to both Whig and Tory parties, and for his satire 
against the High-Church party, entitled TJie Shortest Way with 
Dissenters, he was fined, pilloried, and imprisoned. Although 
this satire was mainly aimed at the High-Church party, he did 
not spare the Dissenters, to which body he himself belonged. 
He protested against intolerance wherever it existed, and up- 
held sound policy from whatever part}' it originated. It was 
during his imprisonment at Newgate that he began his inde- 
pendent critical journal, the Bemew, in which he lashed the 
abuses of the age. His best-known work, the Life and Adven- 
tures of Robinson Crusoe, was published in 1719, and was fol- 
lowed in close succession by other stories, all marked by the 
same air of reality that distinguishes that wonderful produc- 
tion. Three of them, The Journal of the Plague Year, The 
Memoirs of a Cavalier, and those of Captain Carleton, have been 
frequently mistaken for authentic narratives. Other works of 
De Foe's are The Dumb Philosopher, Captain Singleton, Duncan 
Campbell, Moll Flanders, Colonel Jacques, Boxana, TJie Xeic Voy- 
age Bound theWorld, etc. The separate publications of this in- 
defatigable writer number two hundred and fifty-four works. 

De Foe was of humble parentage, the son of a butcher, James 
Foe, a zealous Dissenter, who gave his son a good education, 
intending him for a minister. The u De" was an addition 
fancied and adopted by the son before he was known in the 
literary world. 



LITERATURE OF THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



125 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Augustan 

Age. 

POPE. 

From Essay on Criticism. 

You, then, whose judgment, the right course would steer, 
Know well each ancient's proper character : 
His fable, subject, scope in every page ; 
Keligion, country, genius of his age : 
Without all these at once before your eyes, 
Cavil you may, but never criticise. 
Be Homer's works your study and delight, 
Head them by day and contemplate by night ; 
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring, 
And trace the Muses upward to their spring. 
Still with itself compared his text peruse ; 
And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse. — Line 129. 

A little learning is a dangerous thing! 

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring : 

There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, 

And drinking largely sobers us again. 

Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts, 

In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts, 

While, from the bounded level of our mind, 

Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; 

But more advanced, behold with strange surprise 

New distant scenes of endless science rise ! 

So pleased at first the towering Alps we try, 

Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky ; 

Th' eternal snows appear already past, 

And the first clouds and mountains seem the last: 

But, those attained, we tremble to survey 

The growing labors of the lengthen' d way, 

Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, 

Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise. — Line 232. 

Good nature and good sense must ever join ; 
To err is human ; to forgive, divine. — Line 525. 

But you, with pleasure own your errors past, 

And make each day a critic on the last. — Line 571. 

For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.— Line 625. 
11* 



126 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



From the Rape of the Lock. 

And now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed, 
Each silver vase in mystic order laid: 
First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores, 
With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. 
A heavenly image in the glass appears, 
To that she bends, to that her eye she rears ; 
The inferior priestess, at her altar's side, 
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 

Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ; 
The fair each moment rises in her charms, 
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, 
And calls forth all the wonders of her nice; 

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, 
Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore. 

From Epistle to Dr. Akbtjthnot. 

Shut, shut the door, good John ! fatigued, I said ; 
Tie up the knocker, say I 'ni sick, I 'm dead. 

E'en Sunday shines no sabbath-day for me. 

As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, 

I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came. 

Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer. 

From Essay ok Man. 

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate. 

Epistle L, line 77. 

Hope springs eternal in the human breast: 
Man never is, but always to be blest. — Line 95. 

Lo the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind 
Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind. 

Line 100. 



LITERATURE OF THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



127 



All are but parts of one stupendous whole. 
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul ; 
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame. 
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent, 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns 
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : 
To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all ! 

Cease then, nor order imperfection name ; 
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
Know thy own point : this kind, this due degree 
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. 
Submit — in this or any other sphere, 
Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear; * 
Safe in the hand of one disposing Power, 
Or in the natal or the mortal hour. 
All nature is but art unknown to thee ; 
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see ; 
All discord, harmony not understood ; 
All partial evil, universal good : 
And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, 
One truth is clear, Whatever is is right. — Line 29 4. 

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan ; 

The proper study of mankind is man. — Epistle II, line 1. 

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 

As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; 

Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 

"We first endure, then pity, then embrace. — Line 217 \ 

Order is Heaven's first law ; and this confessed, 
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, 
More rich, more wise ; but who infers from hence 
That such are happier, shocks all common sense. 
Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, 
If all are equal in their happiness : 



128 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



But mutual wants this happiness increase ; 

All Nature's difference keeps all Nature's peace. 

Condition, circumstance, is not the thing : 

Bliss is the same in subject or in king, 

In who obtain defence, or who defend, 

In him who is, or him who finds a friend ; 

Heaven breathes through every member of the whole 

One common blessing, as one common soul. 

Epistle IV., line 62. 

Honor and shame from no condition rise; 

Act well your part, there all the honor lies. — Line 193. 

Worth makes the man, the want of it the fellow ; 
The rest is all but leather or prunella. — Line 203. 

What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? 

Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards. — Line J 15. 

A wit 's a feather, and a chief a rod ; 

An honest man's the noblest work of God. — Line 

One self-approving hour, whole years outweighs. 

Line 255. 

The Dying Christian to his Soul. 

Vital spark of heavenly flame ! 
Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying — 
Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, 
And let me languish into life ! 

Hark ! they whisper ; angels say. 
Sister spirit, come away. 
What is this absorbs me quite? 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight ? 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 

The world recedes ; it disappears ! 
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring: 
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! 
Oh Grave! where is thy victory? 

Oh Death ! where is thy sting ? 



LITERATURE OF THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. 
i. 

Descend, ye Nine ! descend and sing ; 

The breathing instruments inspire, 
Wake into voice each silent string, 
And sweep the sounding lyre! 
In a sadly pleasing strain 
Let the warbling lute complain ; 
Let the loud trumpet sound, 
Till the roofs all around 
The shrill echoes rebound: 
While in more lengthen' d notes and slow 
The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow. 
Hark ! the numbers soft and clear 
Gently steal upon the ear ; 
Now louder, and yet louder rise, 
And fill with spreading sounds the skies ; 
Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes 
Tn broken air, trembling, the wild music floats ; 
Till by degrees, remote and small, 
The strains decay 
And melt away 
In a dying, dying fall. 

ii. 

By music minds an equal temper know, 
Nor swell too high nor sink too low, 
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise, 
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies; 
Or when the soul is pressed with cares, 
Exalts her in enlivening airs, 
Warriors she fires with animated sounds ; 
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds; 
Melancholy lifts her head, 
Morpheus rouses from his bed, 
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes, 
Listening Envy drops her snakes ; 
Intestine war no more our passions wage, 
And giddy factions bear away their rage. 
I 



130 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



in. 

But when our country's cause provokes to arms, 

How martial music every bosom warms ! 

So when the first bold vessel dared the seas, 

High on the stern the Thracian* raised his strain 
While Argo saw her kindred trees 

Descend from Pelion to the main. 
Transported demigods stood round, 
And men grew heroes at the sound, 

Inflam'd with glory's charms : 
Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd, 
And half unsheath'd the shining blade ; 
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound, 

"To arms! to arms! to arms!" 

IV. 

But when through all th' infernal bounds 
Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds, 

Love strong as Death, the Poet f led, 
To the pale nations of the dead, 
What sounds were heard, 
What scenes appeared, 
O'er all the dreary coasts ! 
Dreadful gleams, 
Dismal screams, 



* Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
And the mountain tops that freeze, 
Bow themselves when he did sing. 

Shak. : Henry VIII., Act III, Sec. 1. 

Therefore the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; 
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 

Shak. : Merchant of Venice, Act V., Sec. 1. 
f Orpheus, who had moved everything that heard him play, hoped to regain from 
the regions of death his beautiful wife, Eurydice. So he goes down into the realm 
of Pluto, and there, by his wonderful melody, charms even the Furies; causes a 
respite to the tortures of the doomed— to Sisyphus, whose task is to roll the stone 
forever, and to Ixion, chained to a fiery wheel which never ceases to turn. So 
sweet are the notes of Orpheus that Pluto and Proserpine, god and goddess of the 
Infernal regions, relent, and restore Eurydice, on condition that Orpheus shall 
not turn his head to look upon her as she follows him, until they have passed be- 
yond the bounds of Hades. But Orpheus, impatient to see his wife, looks back, an<J 
lo ! she is again snatched from him, 



LITERATURE OF TEE AUGUSTAN AGE. 131 



Fires that glow, 
Shrieks of woe, 
Sullen moans, 
Hollow groans, 
And cries of tortured ghosts ! 
But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre: 
And see the tortured ghosts respire. 

See shady forms advance ! 
Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still, 
Ixion rests upon his wheel, 
And the pale spectres dance! 
The Furies sink upon their iron beds, 
And snakes uncurl' d hang listening round their heads. 

v. 

" By the streams that ever flow, 
By the fragrant winds that blow 

O'er the Elysian flowers; 
By those happy souls who dwell 
In yellow meads of Asphodel, 

Or Amaranthine bowers ; 
By the hero's armed shades, 
Glittering through the gloomy glades ; 
By the youths that died for love, 
Wandering in the myrtle grove. 
Kestore, restore Eurydice to life ; 
Oh, take the husband, or return the wife ! " 
He sung, and Hell consented 
To hear the Poet's prayer: 
Stern Proserpine relented, 
And gave him back the fair. 

Thus song could prevail 
O'er death and o'er hell, 
A conquest how hard and how glorious ! 
Though fate had first bound her 
With Styx nine times round her, 
Yet music and love were victorious. 

VI. 

But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes ; 
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies ! 



132 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move ? 
No crime was thine, if 't is no crime to love. 
Now under hanging mountains, 
Beside the falls of fountains, 
Or where Hebrus wanders, 
Rolling in meanders, 
All alone, 
Unheard, unknown, 
He makes his moan; 
And calls her ghost, 
For ever, ever, ever lost ! 
Now with Furies surround 
Despairing, confounded, 
He trembles, he glows, 
Amidst Rhodope's snows; 
See wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies; 
Hark ! Haemas resounds with the Bacchanal's cries — 

Ah see, he dies ! 
Yet ev'n in death "Eurydice" he sung, 
"Eurydice" still trembled on his tongue, 
" Eurydice," the winds, 
" Eurydice," the floods, 
" Eurydice," the rocks and hollow mountains rung. 

VII. 

Music the fiercest grief can charm, 

And fate's severest rage disarm : 

Music can soften pain to ease, 

And make despair and madness please; 

Our joys below it can improve, 

And antedate the bliss above. 
This the divine Cecilia found, 
And to her Maker's praise confined the sound. 
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire, 

Th' immortal powers incline their ear; 
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire, 
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire; 

And angels lean from heaven to hear. 
Of Orpheus now no more let Poets tell, 

To bright Cecilia greater power is given ! 
His numbers raised a shade from hell, 

Hers lift the soul to heaven. 



LITERATURE OF THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



133 



GAY. 

The Hare and Many Friends. 

Friendship, like love, is but a name, 
Unless to one you stint the flame. 
The child whom many fathers share 
Hath seldom known a father's care. 
'Tis thus in friendship; who depend 
On many, rarely find a friend. 

A Hare, who in a civil way 
Complied with everything, like Gay, 
Was known by all the bestial train 
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain. 
Her care was never to offend, 
And every creature was her friend. 

As forth she went at early dawn, 
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, 
Behind she hears the hunter's cries, 
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies; 
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; 
She hears the near advance of death ; 
She doubles, to mislead the hound, 
And measures back her mazy round : 
Till, fainting in the public way, 
Half dead with fear she gasping lay : 
What transport in her bosom grew 
When first the Horse appeared in view ! 
Let me, says she, your back ascend, 
And owe my safety to a friend. 
You know my feet betray my flight, 
To friendship every burden 's light. 
The Horse replied, Poor honest Puss, 
It grieves my heart to see you thus : 
Be comforted, relief is near, 
For all your friends are in the rear. 

She next the stately Bull implored, 
And thus replied the mighty lord : 
Since every beast alive can tell 
That I sincerely wish you well, 
I may, without offence, pretend 
To take the freedom of a friend. 



134 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



To leave you thus might seem unkind ; 
But see, the Goat is just behind. 
The Goat remarked her pulse was high, 
Her languid head, her heavy eye; 
My back, says he, may do you harm, 
The Sheep 's at hand, and wool is warm. 
The Sheep was feeble, and complained 
His sides a load of wool sustained: 
Said he was slow, confessed his fears, 
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares. 
She now the trotting Calf addressed, 
To save from death a friend distressed. 
Shall I, says he, of tender age, 
In this important care engage? 
Older and abler passed you by ; 
How strong are those, how weak am I ! 
Should I presume to bear you hence, 
Those friends of mine may take offence. 
Excuse me, then. You know my heart ; 
But dearest friends, alas ! must part. 
How shall we all lament ! Adieu ! 
For, see, the hounds are just in view ! 

ADDISON. 

From The Spectator, No. 112. 

Sir Bog-er de Coverly* at Church. 

I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and think, if 
keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it would 
be the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing 
and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country people would soon 
degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such 
frequent returns of a stated time in which the whole village meet to- 
gether with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse 
with one another upon different subjects, hear their duties explained to 



* The papers relating to Sir Roger de Coverly are — No. 2 is his Character, by Steele 
— No. 106, Visit to his Country Seat, by Addison — No. 107, his Conduct to his Ser- 
vants, by Steele— No. 109, his Ancestors, by Steele— No. 112, his Behavior at Church, 
by Addison — No. 113, his Disappointment in Love, by Steele — No. 116, A Hunting 
Scene with Sir Roger, by Budgell— No. 118, Sir Roger's Reflections on the Widow, 
by Steele— and Nos. 122, 130, 269, 271, 329, 335, 383, and 517, containing an account of 
his death, all by Addison. 



LITERATURE OF THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 



135 



them, and join together in adoration of the Supreme Being. Sunday 
clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their 
minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appear- 
ing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are 
apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A country fellow 
distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard as a citizen does upon 
the 'Change, the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that 
place either after sermon or before the bell rings. 

My friend Sir Eoger, being a good churchman, has beautified the 
inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing. He has 
likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion- 
table at his own expense. He has often told me, that at his coming to 
his estate he found his parishioners very irregular, and that, in order to 
make them kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them 
a hassock and a common-prayer book, and, at the same time, employed 
an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country for that pur- 
pose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms ; upon which 
they now very much value themselves, and indeed outdo most of the 
country churches that I have ever heard. 

As Sir Koger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in 
very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides himself; 
for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon 
recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees 
anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself or sends his servants 
to them. Several other of the old knight's particularities break out 
upon these occasions. Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse 
in the singing Psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation 
have done with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his 
devotion, he pronounces amen three or four times to the same prayer ; 
and sometimes stands up, when everybody else is upon their knees, to 
count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing. 

I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the 
midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he 
was about, and not disturb the congregation. This John Matthews, it 
seems, is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking 
his heels for his diversion. This authority of the knight, though exerted 
in that odd manner which accompanies him in all the circumstances of 
life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to 
see anything ridiculous in his behavior ; besides that, the general good 
sense and worthiness of his character make his friends observe these little 
singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities. 



136 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir till Sir 
Roger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down from his seat 
in the chancel between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing 
to him on each side ; and every now and then inquires how such a one's 
wife, or mother, or son, or father does, whom he does not see at church, 
which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent. 

The chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising day, when 
Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered 
a Bible to be given him next day for his encouragement, and sometimes 
accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has like- 
wise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place ; and, that he may 
encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the church 
service, has promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is 
very old, to bestow it according to merit. 

Ode. 

The spacious firmament on high, 

With all the blue ethereal sky, 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 

Their great original proclaim: 

The unwearied sun, from day to day, 

Does his Creator's power display, 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an Almighty hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And nightly to the listening earth 
Repeats the story of her birth : 
Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What, though in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
Forever singing as they shine, 
The hand that made us is divine. 



LITERATURE OF THE AUGUSTAN AGE. 137 



SWIFT. 

From Gulliver's Travels. 

We next went to the school of languages, where three professors sat 
in consultation upon improving that of their own country. 

The first project was to shorten discourse by cutting polysyllables into 
one, and leaving out verbs and participles ; because, in reality, all 
tilings imaginable are but nouns. 

The other was a scheme for entirely abolishing all words whatsoever ; 
and this was urged as a great advantage in point of health as well as 
brevity : for it is plain that every word we speak is in some degree a 
diminution of our lungs by corrosion, and consequently contributes to 
the shortening of our lives. An expedient was therefore offered, that 
since words are only names for things, it would be more convenient for 
all men to carry about them such things as were necessary to express 
the particular business they are to discourse on. 

From Verses on my Own Death. 

Behold the fatal day arrive ! 

How is the Dean ? He 's just alive. 

Now the departing prayer is read; 

He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead. 

* * * * 

Oh may we all for death prepare ! 
What has he left ? and who 's his heir ? 
I know no more than what the news is — 
'Tis all bequeathed to public uses. 

Here shift the scene, to represent 
How those I love my death lament. 
Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay 
A week, and Arbuthnot a day. 
St. John* himself will scarce forbear 
To bite his pen and drop a tear. 
The rest will give a shrug and cry, 
" I ; m sorry — but we all must die ! " 

* * * * * 

'Twas he that writ the "Drapier letters!" 
He should have left them to his betters. 
We had a hundred abler men, 
Nor need depend upon his pen. 



* Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke. 

12* 



138 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Say what you will about his reading, 
You never can defend his breeding. 

* * * * * 
Perhaps, I may allow, the Dean 

Had too much satire in his vein, 

And seemed determined not to starve it, 

Because no age could more deserve it. 

* * * * * 
He gave the little wealth he had 

To build a house for fools and mad. 



DE FOB. 

From Kobinson Crusoe. 

It happened one day about noon, going towards my boat, I was 
exceedingly surprised with the print of a man's naked foot on the 
shore, which was very plain to be seen on the sand : I stood like one 
thunder-struck, or as if I had seen an apparition: I listened, I looked 
round me, I could hear nothing, nor see anything ; I went up to a ris- 
ing ground to look farther : I went up the shore, and down the shore 
but it was all one, I could see no other impression but that one: 
I went to it again to see if there were any more, and to observe if 
it might not be my fancy ; but there was no room for that, for there 
was exactly the very print of a foot, toes, heel, and every part of a 
foot. How it came thither I knew not, nor could in the least imagine. 
But after innumerable fluttering thoughts, like a man perfectly confused, 
and out of myself, I came home to my fortification, not feeling, as we 
say, the ground I went on, but terrified to the last degree, looking 
behind me at every two or three steps, mistaking every bush and tree, 
and fancying every stump at a distance to be a man ; nor is it possible 
to describe how many various shapes an affrighted imagination repre- 
sented things to me in ; how many wild ideas were formed every 
moment of my fancy, and what strange, unaccountable whimsies came 
into my thoughts by the way. 

When I came to my castle, for so I think I called it ever after this, I 
fled into it like one pursued ; whether I went over by the ladder, at first 
contrived, or went in at the hole in the rock, which I called a door, I 
cannot remember ; for never frighted hare fled to cover, or fox to 
earth, with more terror of mind than I to this retreat. 

I then reflected, that God, who was not only righteous, but omnipo- 
tent, as he had thought fit thus to punish and afflict me, so he was able 
to deliver me ; that if he did not think fit to do it, it was my unques- 



SYLLABUS. 



139 



tioned duty to resign myself absolutely and entirely to his will : and, on 
the other hand, it was my duty also to hope in him, pray to him, and 
quietly to attend the dictates and directions of his daily providence. 

Heartening myself, therefore, with the belief that this was nothing 
but the print of one of my own feet (and so I might be truly said to 
start at my own shadow), I began to go abroad again, and went to my 
country-house to milk my flock ; but to see with what fear I went for- 
ward, how often I looked behind me, how I was ready, every now and 
then, to lay down my basket, and run for my life ; it would have made 
any one have thought I was haunted with an evil conscience, or that I 
had been lately most terribly frighted ; and so indeed I had. 

However, as I went down thus two or three days, and having seen 
nothing, I began to be a little bolder, and to think there was really 
nothing in it but my own imagination. But I could not persuade my- 
self fully of this till I should go down to the shore again, and see this 
print of a foot, and measure it by my own, and see if there was any 
similitude or fitness, that I might be assured it was my own foot. But 
when I came to the place first, it appeared evidently to me, that when 
I laid up my boat, I could not possibly be on shore anywhere therea- 
bouts. Secondly, when I came to measure the mark with my own foot, 
I found my foot not so large by a great deal. Both these things filled 
my head with new imaginations, and gave me the vapors again to the 
highest degree ; so that I shook with cold, like one in an ague ; and I 
went home again, filled with the belief that some man or men had been 
on shore there ; or, in short, that the island was inhabited, and I might 
be surprised before I was aware ; and what course to take for my 
security, I knew not. O what ridiculous resolutions men take when pos- 
sessed with fear ! It deprives them of the use of those means which 
reason offers for their relief. 

Syllabus. 

The Augustan Age of English Literature includes the reigns of Anne and 
George I., and is so named from the Augustan Age of Konian Literature — 
the age of Augustus Caesar. With Anne the Stuart line of Sovereigns ended, 
with George the Hanoverian line began. Those who favored the latter 
were styled Whigs, those who favored the return of the Stuarts, were called 
Tories and Jacobites. 

The principal writers of the Augustan Age were Pope, Addison, Steele, 
and Swift. 

Pope perfected the School of Criticism begun by Dryden, and was the 
chief of the so-called Artificial Poets. Pope's mission was to teach ac- 



140 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



curacy of expression. In the language of Mrs. Browning, Pope " carved 
on cherry-stones." 

The Age was too keen and critical for j^oetry to thrive, but was admi- 
rably adapted to the perfecting of prose. 

The chief prose writers of the time were Swift, Addison, Steele, and De 
Foe. 

Swift excelled in satire, but his wit was coarse. 

Addison was a genial, polished writer, with pure tastes and refined in- 
stincts. With Steele he published the Spectator. 

Sir Richard Steele, often called Dick Steele, was a character "vibrating 
between virtue and vice." He was a genial writer, and £>assionately de- 
voted to Addison. 

De Foe was one of the most voluminous writers of the age. His out- 
spoken sentiments — advocating right principles rather than party policy 
— gained him many enemies. He protested against intolerance of all forms. 
His best known work is Robinson Crusoe. 



Chapter IX. 



The Age of Dr. Johnson. 

1727— 1784. 

period is more interesting in its literary or political his- 
tory than that upon which we are now entering, — Dr. 
Johnson the central figure in the one, and the c 4 Great Com- 
moner," William Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham, in the 
other. It is a period fraught with events which shaped the 
destinies of nations. 

In 1727 George II. succeeded his father to the throne, and 
engaged in a war in which nearly all Europe took part— the 
war of the Austrian succession.* During the King's absence 
on the continent, Charles Edward, the young Pretender, landed 
in Scotland to make one more effort to secure the throne of his 
ancestors, but was defeated in the battle of Culloden, 1745. 
This was the last attempt of the Stuarts to regain the throne 
of England. 

In 1760 George III., grandson of George II., ascended the 
throne, and Bute was created prime minister, but, becoming 
unpopular, he soon resigned, and the ministry fell upon Gren- 
ville. It was during this ministry that the American colonies 
offered resistance to the unjust taxation imposed upon them. 
In William Pitt they had a strong friend. Through his exer- 
tions the Stamp Act was repealed. His acceptance of the 




* George espoused the cause of Maria Theresa, the heir to the throne of Austria, 
and in person defeated the French at the battle of Dettingen. 

141 



142 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Earldom of Chatham somewhat affected his popularity, for the 
people loved to think of him as the " Great Commoner." 

Not least among the prominent events of this period was the 
establishment of the British empire in India, with which the 
names of Clive and Warren Hastings are connected. Aside 
from the selfish aggrandizement of the scheme, the intercourse 
which it opened up with the East awakened an interest in 
oriental studies and researches. 

It was an era of beginnings. New fields were opening in 
literature, science, and politics. 

The history of the literature of this time until the accession 
of George III. in 1760 presents a striking contrast to the pre- 
ceding age of Pope— the age of patronage, when successful 
writers were rewarded by substantial gifts of office.* In John- 
son's time u the harvest was over, and famine began. All that 
was squalid and miserable might be summed up in the word 
poet." It was an age which separated two great epochs in liter- 
ary history — a pause when patronage had ceased and the pub- 
lic taste had not begun to demand the productions of literary 
genius. Patronage only had ceased ; genius was stirring, and 
starving and penniless, as were the " literary hacks of Grub 
street," they were creating a literature more permanent and 
brilliant than that of the Augustan age. Johnson and his cen- 
tury established English prose. 

Poetry. 

In taking a retrospective glance at the history of poetry from 
the time of Dryden to that of Johnson, we shall find that most 
of the productions aim at a style based upon the classical writ- 
ers of antiquity ; that the style which commenced with Waller 
and Dryden culminated in Pope, and entailed its influence upon 
the succeeding age of Johnson. In Gray, Collets, Thomson, 
Goldsmith, and Young the spirit of poetry seemed to revive. 
The restraint of the preceding age in a degree removed, health- 
ful imagination began to resume her sway. Excellence charac- 



* Addison was Secretary of State ; Steele was a member of Parliament and Com- 
missioner of Stamps ; Sir Isaac Newton was Master of the Mint ; Locke was Com- 
missioner of Appeals and of the Board of Trade ; Gay, at twenty-five, was Secretary 
of Legation, and many other offices of state were filled by literary men. 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



143 



terized the poetry of the time. The influence of Pope's careful 
labor was felt. Gray never printed a line that could be im- 
proved. Collins so exquisitely modulated his verse that the 
rhyme is not even missed. Thomson, who three times cor- 
rected and rewrote his Seasons; Goldsmith, whose every line 
is a picture ; and Young, whose Night Thoughts, in many in- 
stances, reechoes the Essay on Man, all show the influence of 
Pope's teaching. 

Thomas Gray (1716-1771) was born in London. At Eton 
he prepared for Cambridge. Here he lived the greater part of 
his life in scholarly seclusion.* His poems scarcely number more 
than half a dozen, and his fame rests on one, the Elegy written 
in a Country Churchyard, the popular poem of every age. This 
poem, begun in 1742, was finished in 1750. It is curious and 
interesting to watch the progress of this famous poem as it grew 
under the author's own hands — to notice the various shades of 
thought produced by the substitution of words, and the ever 
vigilant care exercised over every line. The fifteenth stanza 
originally read : 

" Some village Cato, who, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
Some mute, inglorious Tully here may rest, 
Some Caesar, guiltless of his country's blood." 

The final substitution of the great names of the English com- 
monwealth for those of the Roman republic made the poem less 
classical, but more consistent, and brought it wholly to the 
hearts and homes of England. 

The first line of the 27th stanza originally read : 

" With gesture quaint, now smiling as in scorn," 

and the following exquisite stanza is supposed to have origi- 
nally followed the 29th stanza, immediately preceding the epi- 
taph ; but, exquisite as it is, surpassing many of the stanzas, it 
interrupts the progress of the poem, and therefore was omitted : 



* He travelled in Scotland, and became familiar with the Celtic traditions. He 
had studied also the poetry of Scandinavia, subjects which hitherto had attracted but 
little attention. The office of poet-laureate becoming vacant by the death of Colley 
Cibber, it was offered to Gray, who refused it, accepting instead the professorship of 
modern history in Cambridge. 



144 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



"There scattered oft, the earliest of the year, 

By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; 
The red-breast loves to build and warble there, 
And little footsteps lightly print the ground." 

Gray's two great odes, The Progress of Poesy and The Bard, 
were received with less favor than the Elegy. They are grand 
and sonorous, replete with classical and learned allusions, 
and will repay the student for hours of patient study. Gray's 
poems are, an Ode to Spring, On the Death of a Favorite Cat, Ode 
on a Distant Prospect of Eton College, Ode to Adversity, Elegy 
written in a Country Churchyard, The Progress of Poesy, and 
The Bard. 

William Colliks (1720-1756) was a poet endowed with 
rare genius. Like Gray, he was a purely lyrical poet. The 
best known of his poems is his Ode to the Passions, in which the 
personification of fear, anger, despair, pity, etc., shows the live- 
liest fancy. Hope and cheerfulness, sentiments to which this 
poet was perhaps the greatest stranger, are the best portrayed 
of all : 

" But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delighted measure? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes, at distance, hail ! 

Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale 

She called on Echo still, through all the song ; 
And where her sweetest themes she chose, 
A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair." 

The bright and gloomy pictures, the " sprightlier tones " and 
" woful measures," are most skilfully intermingled : 

" Hope longer would have sung, but with a frown 
Kevenge impatient rose ; 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, 
And, with a withering look, 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woes; 
And ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat; 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



145 



And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity, at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ; 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. 

" Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed — 
Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; 
And now it courted Love — now, raving, called on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
Pale Melancholy sat retired; 
And, from her wild sequestered seat, 
In notes, by distance made more sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; 
And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole; 
Or, o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, — 
Round a holy calm diffusing, 
Love of peace, and lonely musing, — 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

" But, oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, — 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 

The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 

Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, 

Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, 
And Sport leaped up, and seized his beech en spear." 

Nothing could be more melodious than the soft and " mingled 
measures" descriptive of melancholy, the passion to which the 
poet was himself a prey. His short life of thirty-eight years 
terminated in insanity. Collins 's first publications were pas- 
torals, in which oriental personages and incidents replaced the 
customary and traditional pastoral type of the ancient Greek 
and Roman. The age did not perceive the genius which in- 
13 K 



146 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



spired these Persian Eclogues, and they were but little noticed. 
Among the minor lyrics of Collins, his elegy on the Death of 
Thomson, The Dirge in Cymbeline, How Sleep the Brave, and 
The Ode to Evening are best known. There are marked resem- 
blances in the poetry of Collins and Gray. 

The story of the life of Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774) is 
known almost as well as his Vicar of Wakefield or Deserted Vil- 
lage. His youthful genius, his humor, his vagrancies, and 
unwarrantable acts of charity have attracted the pens of nu- 
merous biographers, while, perhaps, his own delineations of 
character frequently portray himself more truly. 

Born in Ireland, but not of Irish descent, his early childhood 
was spent in and about the village of Pallas, in the county of 
Longford. He was the second son of Charles Goldsmith, a 
clergyman in straightened circumstances, who, in bestowing a 
liberal education upon his eldest son, had not the means left to 
educate the little Oliver, so it was decided that he should be 
brought up to some mercantile pursuit. He was sent to various 
school-masters, the first of whom entertained his little pupil 
with stories of strange adventures, which, perhaps, gave Oliver 
his first desire for wandering. His rhymes, at the age of seven 
and eight years, when he could scarcely write legibly, attracted 
the notice of his family.* 

At the age of sixteen he entered Dublin College as a sizer or 
charity student.! He was next sent to London to study law, 

* On one occasion, his sister tells us, being but recently recovered from the small- 
pox, by which he was much disfigured, he was dancing a hornpipe to the music of a 
fiddle. The player, observing the short, thick, little figure, compared him to iEsop 
dancing, upon which Oliver stopped short in the dance, with the retort: 

" Our herald hath proclaimed this saying — 
See iEsop dancing, and his monkey playing." 

" His ready reply concerning iEsop," says his sister, " decided his future, for from 
that time it was determined to send him to the University." Several relatives, 
who had more means than the father, offered their assistance, particularly an uncle, 
the Rev. Thomas Contarine. 

f His tutor here was a man of unusual severity, who could not tolerate Goldsmith's 
wild, extravagant habits, and who, through his harsh and brutal treatment, impelled 
the youth to leave college. Selling his books and clothing, Goldsmith wandered 
about the streets of Dublin until he was reduced to the point of starving. Filled 
with remorse for his follies, he sent word to his brother, who hastened to his relief 
and reinstated him in college. 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



147 



but stopping in Dublin on his way, he squandered the sum pro- 
vided for his journey. Still, not discouraged, the good uncle 
next sent him to Edinburgh, to study medicine. Here he re- 
mained about eighteen months, when he was obliged to leave 
on account of having gone security for a considerable sum for 
a classmate. From Edinburgh he took passage for Leyden, 
where he studied for about a year, and then set out to make 
the tour of Europe on foot, without money, and unincumbered 
with baggage, carrying with him but one clean shirt and his 
flute. 

In the character of " George Primrose," in the Vicar of 
Wakefield, he tells his own career through this memorable 
journey : 

" I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice, and now 
turned what was my amusement into a present means of subsistence. I 
passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and among such of the 
French as were poor enough to be very merry, for I ever found them 
sprightly in proportion to their wants. Whenever I approached a peas- 
ant's house towards nightfall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and 
that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day." 

Thus through Flanders and portions of France, Germany, 
and Switzerland he travelled, and reached home within a year 
from the time he set out, penniless, as a matter of course, but 
prepared to enrich the world of literature by his contribution 
of the Traveller, or a Prospect of Society. Settling in London, 
he engaged in whatever offered a means of support, however 
meagre— at one time acting as a chemist's clerk, at another 
as usher in a boarding-school, and often as physician among 
the very poor. After numerous discouraging attempts at self- 
support, he began his literary career — the only career for which 
nature had endowed him — at first hiring his time to booksellers 
as the merest drudge, then writing articles for Reviews, and 
publishing anonymously his Inquiry into the Present State of 
Polite Learning in Europe. 

The Bee was a series of essays, on different subjects, which 
he published weekly. Their sprightly tone and genial humor 
should have won the patronage which the Spectator of the 
previous age received, but the author was unknown, and liter- 
ature was not yet loved for itself. Next appeared Letters from 



148 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITER A TUBE. 



a Citizen of the World, purporting to have been written by a 
Chinaman residing for a short time in England, and observing 
the manners of the people. The Traveller was not published 
until 1764, and was the first of his writings to which he affixed 
his name. It instantly became popular, and when the previous 
articles which he had written were known to be from the pen 
of the author of the Traveller, they received the notice which 
they had always deserved. Goldsmith was now becoming 
popular. His genius had won the warm friendship of Dr. 
Johnson, and he was made one of the first members of that 
famous Literary Club of which Johnson was the brilliant 
centre. From that excellent friend and critic we have the 
following account of the publishing of the Vicar of Wakefi 
two years after the appearance of the Traveller: 

" I received, one morning/' says Johnson. u a message from poor 
Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and. as it was not in his power 
to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. 
I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accord- 
ingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had 
arrested him for his rent, at which he- was in a violent passion. I 
perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle 
of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, de- 
sired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which 
he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready 
for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it. and saw its 
merit, told the landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a 
bookseller, sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, 
and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high 
tone for having used him so ill." 

In 1768 appeared his drama of the Good-Matured Man. one 
of the most genial comedies in the language. The next year 
The Deserted Village was published, which became immediately 
popular. The same year found him industriously engaged in 
compiling his Histories of England, Greece, and Borne. These 
were, for the most part, adaptations of other works, with still 
enough of Goldsmith in the welding together to give the charm 
of his style. In 1771, he produced his second comedy — She 
Stoops to Conquer * This was received with much more favor 



* The plot of this inimitable comedy is founded on a blunder which Goldsmith 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



149 



than the first, the humor being broader, and more suited to 
the taste of indiscriminate playgoers, than the delicate, genial 
humor of the Good-jNatured Man. Among Goldsmith's last 
works was a History of the Earth and Animated Nature. In this 
he made no pretensions to originality, the work being a con- 
densed translation of Buffon, a French naturalist, contempo- 
rary with Goldsmith. For this work, as for many others, Gold- 
smith received large profits, but so great was his improvidence, 
and so boundless his charity, that no sum, however great, w r as 
sufficient to satisfy his propensity to give.* In his Citizen of 
the World, the Man of Black, who sometimes resembles Gold- 
smith himself, says, speaking of his father, and his instruction 
to his children : 

" We were told that universal benevolence was what first cemented 
society. We were taught to consider all the wants of mankind as our 
own — to regard the human face divine with affection and esteem. He 
wound us up to be mere machines of pity, and rendered us incapable 
of withstanding the slightest impulse made either by real or fictitious 
distress. In a word, we were perfectly instructed in the art of giving 
away thousands before we were taught the necessary qualifications of 
getting a farthing." 

In Dr. Primrose, in the Vicar of Wakefield, the family again 
recognized the father ; likewise in the Preacher, in the Deserted 
Village : 

"A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich, with forty pounds a year. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train : 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast : 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed. 



himself made when a very young man, in mistaking the house of a gentleman — an 
early friend of his father's — for an inn ; calling for his supper, ordering hot cake for 
breakfast, and not discovering his blunder until he asked for his bill. The host, 
being a man of humor, on seeing the youth's mistake, encouraged all the household 
to keep up the deception. Other incidents were woven into the drama, giving it the 
title of She Stoops to Conquer, but it was originally called The Mistakes of a Night. 

* In the genial words of Thackeray, " The poor fellow was never so friendless but 
he could befriend some one ; never so pinched and wretched but he could give of his 
crust and speak his word of compassion." 

13* 



150 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 

Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 

His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus, to relieve the wretched was his pride, 

And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side." 

Of the writings* of Oliver Goldsmith there can be but one 
opinion, that they are among the most elegant and delightful 
compositions in the language. Every line breathes his spirit 
of gentleness and humanity. His prose is as charming as his 
poetry ; and so versatile was his genius, that he might be 
classed among poets, dramatists, novelists, or essayists. 

James Thomson (1700-1748) holds the same rank among the 
poets of England that Bryant holds among American poets — 
both preeminently the poets of nature. Thomson's love of 
nature was a passion sincere and devotional. His imagination 
was pure and unfettered, and while he seldom or never startles 
the reader with bold or daring nights, he is always pleasing, 
always true and simple, and sometimes grand. 

His first poem was Winter, written without any thought of 
connecting it with a series. Finding this poem popular, he 
next wrote Summer, and finally added the other two, publish- 
ing them all under the title of The Seasons. Pope was still 
living when Thomson published these poems, and, it is said, 



* Of the life and character of Goldsmith there have been various estimates. Ma- 
caulay says of him : " There was in his character much to love, but little to respect. 
His heart was soft even to weakness ; he was so generous, that he quite forgot to be 
just ; he forgave injuries so readily that he might be said to invite them, and was so 
liberal to beggars that he had nothing left for his tailor and butcher." 

We cannot but feel the justice of these strictures of Macaulay, though it may be 
he was so just that he forgot to be generous ! 

Thackeray, if less discriminating, is more charitable. He says: "Think of him 
reckless, thoughtless, vain, if you like, but merciful, gentle, generous, full of love 
and pity. His humor delighting us still; his song fresh and beautiful as when first 
he charmed with it; his words in all our mouths; his benevolent spirit still seems 
to smile on us ; to do gentle kindnesses ; to succor with sweet charity ; to soothe, 
caress, and forgive ; to plead with the fortunate for the unhappy and poor." 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



151 



made many suggestions which the poet always heeded. And 
yet there is none of Pope's stiffness in the Seasons. In the 
description of a summer morning, with " the dripping rock," 
"the mountain's misty top," there is a perfect picture of 
awakening dawn : 

" With quickened step 
Brown night retires ; young day pours in apace, 
And opens all the lawny prospect wide. 
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top 
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 
Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine, 
And from the bladed field the fearful hare 
Limps awkward ; while along the forest glade 
The wild deer trip, and often turning, gaze 
At early passenger. Music awakes 
The native voice of undissembled joy ; 
And thick around the woodland hymns arise. 
Eoused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 
His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells; 
And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 
His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn." 

The coloring is gray, as Thomson's pictures usually are, but 
there is not a word amiss in this description of early dawn. 

Edward Young (1681-1765), known mainly as the author 
of the Night Thoughts, was contemporary with Pope and the 
writers of that age, but was more prominent in the succeeding 
period of literature. His Night Thoughts was written, at the 
age of sixty, apparently under the pressure of great sorrow, 
and represents the meditations of nine nights.* It consists 
mainly of serious reflections on Life and Death and Immor- 
tality. The style of the Night Thoughts is labored, and, like 
Pope's Essay on Man, the work is more enjoyable read in frag- 
ments. There is more play of imagination than in Pope, and 
the whole poem, as contrasted with the Essay on Man, shows 

* Young had entered the church soon after the accession of George IX, and was 
appointed the king's chaplain. Like Dryden and Addison, he married a titled lady, 
the daughter of the Earl of Litchfield ; but unlike his two predecessors, he lived 
most happily with his wife. It was on occasion of her death, and that of her two 
children, that the Night Thoughts was written. The Lorenzo is a purely imagina- 
tive character, representing the man of the world, and an atheist. 



152 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



" more matter with less art. " Young's epigrammatic sentences, 
like those of Pope's, fix themselves in the memory, and become 
familiar phrases in ordinary conversation. Young wrote other 
works, but none became as popular as Night Thoughts, Among 
them are a satire on the Love of Fame, and a tragedy entitled 
Eevenge. 

There were, during this period, two poets of singular fame, 
James Macpherson and Thomas Chatterton, both perpe- 
trators of literary forgeries, claiming to have discovered valu- 
able relics of literature, the products of remote ages. The new 
interest awakening in the study of the national ancient litera- 
ture was favorable to the reception of these forgeries, but that 
the nation and the reading world should accept them as genu- 
ine, must be attributed to the general lack of critical knowl- 
edge on these subjects. 

James Macpherson (1738-1796), a Scotchman, represented 
that in his travels through the Highlands he had discovered the 
veritable works of the ancient Celtic poet Ossian; but as no 
other traces of these poems could be found to exist, they were 
finally believed to have been Macpherson's own productions. 
There is a misty grandeur in the half-revealed scenes, and a 
roll of melancholy music in the words. Thus Colma says : 

" I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard on 
the mountain, the torrent pours down the rock. 

" Such were the words of the bards in the days of song, when the 
king heard the music of harps, the tales of other times ! The chiefs 
gathered from all their hills, and heard the lovely sound. They praised 
the voice of Cona ! the first among a thousand bards ! But age is now 
on my tongue ; my soul has failed ! I hear, at times, the ghosts of bards, 
and learn their pleasant song. But memory fails on my mind. I hear 
the call of years ! They say, as they pass along, why does Ossian sing ? 
Soon shall he lie in the narrow house, and no bard shall raise his fame! 
Koll on, ye dark-brown years ; ye bring no joy on your course ! Let the 
tomb open to Ossian, for his strength has failed. The sons of song are 
gone to rest. My voice remains, like a blast that roars, lonely, on a 
sea-surrounded rock, after the winds are laid. The dark moss whistles 
there ; the distant mariner sees the waving trees ! " 

In all probability these poems were neither entire forgeries 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHXSOX. 



153 



nor wholly genuine. That a Celtic poet named Ossian lived in 
the third century is believed, and that traditions of him, or 
fragments of his song, remained and were treasured by his 
Gaelic descendants is altogether probable. Xames of other 
Celtic bards and heroes are mentioned throughout the poem, 
giving it the air of genuineness. 

In Thomas Chattertgn (1752-1770) we have the most 
remarkable instance of precocity on record. When we con- 
sider all that he accomplished and all that he suffered in that 
short life of less than eighteen years, it seems almost incred- 
ible. 

He was born in Bristol. His parents were poor, and his ed- 
ucation was obtained chiefly at a charity school. His preco- 
cious genius was displayed in his infancy. When eleven years 
of age he composed the following hymn, beginning : 

" Almighty Framer of the skies. 
O let our pure devotion rise 
Like incense in thy sight ! 
Wrapt in impenetrable shade, 
The texture of our souls was made, 
Till thy command gave light. 

" The sun of glory gleamed, the ray 
Eefined the darkness into day, 
And bid the vapors rise," etc. 

Encouraged, no doubt, by the success of Macpherson's im- 
posture (if it was wholly an imposture), Chatterton conceived 
the idea of imitating some early English writers. Quaint and 
ingenious as his device was. and successful to a degree, Gray 
and a few others, who were better versed in the old language, 
recognized the forgeries. The works were represented by Chat- 
terton to have been " wroten " by the " gode prieste Thomas 
Eowley." There was a prevailing taste for antiquities and 
heraldry ; so for one man, fond of heraldic honors, Chatterton 
made out a pedigree extending to the time of William the Con- 
queror ; for another he obligingly found an ancient poem, Tae 
Eomaunt of the Cnyghte (Knight), which had been written, he 
said, by one of the gentleman's ancestors in the fourteenth 
century. The poems of Chatterton published as u Thomas 
Eowley 's " consist of the Tragedy of JElla. The Execution of 



154 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Sir Charles Bawdin, The Battle of Hastings, TJie Tournament, 
etc. The mask of these poems is mainly their antiquated spell- 
ing and phraseology. 

Conscious of his power, and hopeful of success as a poet, 
Chatterton went to London. Here he would have starved to 
death, but in despair he ended his life by poison. Too proud 
to accept of charity, he refused a dinner offered him by his 
landlady but the day before his death. Thus sadly ended the 
life of that 

"Marvellous boy, 
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride.' ' 

To Dr. Thomas Percy (1728-1811) may be traced the influ- 
ences acting on the poetry of the next and succeeding ages. 
By his indefatigable researches he brought to light the old 
ballads of England and Scotland, opening up a fresh fountain 
of poetry . His collection is known as Beliques of English Poetry, 
or, more familiarly, Percy's Beliques. 

The poetry of Scotland has always been natural and spon- 
taneous—unaffected by false schools of art. Several gems of 
Scottish poetry were written at this time.* 

The Drama. 

We have seen the origin of the drama in the Miracle Plays, 
its period of splendor in Shakespeare's time, its cessation in 
Milton's, its revival in a corrupt form in Dryden's time, and 
its dulness in the time of Pope. The lighter comedy began 
when Gay wrote his Beggars' Opera. In the age of Dr. John- 
son not only the drama itself, but the histrionic art was raised 



* The well-known ballad of Auld Robin Gray was written by Lady Anne Lindsay, 
afterwards Lady Anne Barnard (1750-1825), who for fifty years kept to herself the 
secret of its authorship. The Flowers of the Forest is the name of two national ballads 

written by Miss Jane Elliot (1727-1805) and Mrs. Cockburn ( 1794). They are 

lamentations for Scotland's losses at Flodden Field. The Braes of Yarrow was written 
by William Hamilton (1704-1754), the " volunteer-laureate " of the Jacobites. 

Many Jacobite songs were written about this time ; for, although the party was 
overthrown at Culloden, the Scots clung with an ardent devotion to the last repre- 
sentative of the Stuart line, and for his ill fate poured out their grief in song. 
Among these songs might be named Bonny Charlie V noo awa\ Safely O'er the Friendly 
Main, A Hundred Pipers, Wha 7 be King but Charlie, etc. The Song of Tullochgorum, 
written by the Rev. John Skinner (1721-1807), an Episcopal clergyman, is a plea for 
unity and good-will between the factions. 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



155 



to a high degree of excellence. David Garrick (1716-1779), 
the prince of actors, was also a dramatist. Samuel Foote 
(1720-1777) and George Colman (1733-1794) were actors and 
dramatists, and Colley Cibber, an old man in Johnson's time, 
was still acting and writing. The only classic comedies, how- 
ever, of the time are Goldsmith's Good-Natured Man and She 
Stoojis to Conquer, and Sheridan's Bivals, School for Scandal, 
and Tlie Critic. 

Tragedy was represented by Johnson's Irene, Home's 
Douglas, and Young's JRevenge. Thomson also wrote a trag- 
edy called Sophonisba, but it was not successful on the stage. 

The Novel. 

A new species of literature, the novel, was springing up to 
replace the drama. Samuel Richardson (1689-1761), whose 
first novel, Pamela* was published in 1740, may be styled the 
father of the English novel, while Fielding, Smollett, and 
Sterne, immediately following, should be considered with 
Richardson as the founders of this new feature in literature. 
Richardson's three novels are Pamela, which represents the 
lower class of society, Clarissa Harlowe the middle class, and 
Sir Charles Grandison the highest. 

Henry Fielding (1707-1754) wrote Joseph Andrews,^ a car- 
icature of Richardson's Pamela, Tom Jones, The Life of Jonathan 
Wild, A Journey from this World to the Next, and Amelia. 

Tristram Shandy and the Sentimental Journey, besides a vol- 
ume of Sermons, constitute the works of Laurence Sterne 
(1713-1768), a man whose character little fitted him for the 
serious profession of a minister. In both novels Sterne " is 
always trembling on the verge of an obscene illusion," and is 
seldom read now except in extracts. The same may be said 
of all these novelists, who wrote for a less refined age than our 
own. 

* Pamela is represented as a poor country girl, innocent and beautiful, who enters 
the service of a rich gentleman. The whole story is told in a series of letters, mostly 
written by Pamela, who details minute accounts of her master's wickedness, the 
trials that surround her, and her afflictions, until her marriage with her former per- 
secutor. 

f This hero was represented as the brother of Pamela, and Pamela herself was repre- 
sented as Mrs. Booby. The hero and his friend, Parson Adams, are models of virtue ! 



156 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



The novels of Tobias George Smollett (1721-1771) are 

Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, The Adventures of Ferdi- 
nand^ Count Fathom; Sir Launcelot Greaves, and Humphrey 
C< inker.* 

Theologians. 

The rise of Methodism, which dates from about 1730, gave a 
new impulse to the literature of theology. It was a reac- 
tion against "the faithless coldness of the times." Its great 
founders were John and Charles Wesley! and George 
Whitefield. * Wesley's works are numerous. The most im- 
portant are his Sermons, Notes on the New Testament, A Plain 
Account of the People called Methodists, etc. He also in the 
midst of his ministerial labors wrote various hymns. 



* Under the head of Novels of this period might be mentioned Goldsmith's charm- 
ing story of the Vicar of Wakefield and Miss Burney's (Madame D'Arblay's) (1752- 
1840) Evelina, which was written when the author was but eighteen. Of this work 
Macaulay says: "Miss Burney did for the English novel what Jeremy Collier did 
for the English drama. She first showed that a tale might be written in which both 
the fashionable and the vulgar life of London might be exhibited with great force, 
and with broad comic humor, and which yet should not contain a single line incon- 
sistent with rigid morality, or even with virgin delicacy. She took away the re- 
proach which lay on a most useful and delightful species of composition. She vin- 
dicated the right of her sex to have an equal share in a fair and noble promise of 
letters. Burke had sat up all night to read her writings, and Johnson had pro- 
nounced her superior to Fielding." Johnson's Rasselas comes under this head as a 
Didactic Tale, and The Fool of Quality, by Henry Brooke (1706-1783), is a Theologi- 
cal Tale. Horace Walpole (1717-1797), the friend of Gay, wrote a novel, and 
called it the Castle of Otranto. 

f John and Charles Wesley, sons of Rev. Samuel Wesley, after a home education 
by the best of mothers, were sent to Oxford University. Here, with fourteen other 
students, they organized an association for seeking religious improvement. They 
were reviled by their fellow-students, and called the "Godly Club," "Bible Bigots," 
" Bible Moths," and, on account of the methods which they adopted as rules of con- 
duct, they were also ridiculed under the name of " Methodists." 

The two brothers accompanied General Oglethorpe to America in 1735, and after 
two or three years spent in travelling in the colonies, and preaching in various 
places, they returned. John Wesley (1703-1791) then began his field-preaching, 
travelling through Great Britain and Ireland ; and, in the open air, gathering 
around him men, women, and children, to listen to the new gospel which he felt 
commissioned to preach. Charles Wesley (1708-1788) wrote six thousand separate 
hymns, composing as he rode on horseback, — at any time, and all times. 

| George Whitefield (1714-1770) was associated with John Wesley, and was the 
greatest field-preacher of that or any age. Hume said he would go twenty miles to 
hear him preach. Whitefield followed the Wesleys to Georgia in 1737, and, after hav- 
ing crossed the Atlantic Ocean seven times, died at Newburyport, Mass. Whitefield 
was the founder of the Calvinistic branch of the Methodists. 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



157 



Philosophy. 

In England, as in France, skepticism reigned in philosophic 
minds. The historian David Hume (1711-1776) was most con- 
spicuous among the writers on metaphysical science.* His 
Treatise on Human Nature was published in 1738, after a 
sojourn of three years in France. It was not well received, 
and he afterwards recast and republished it, under the title of 
An Inquiry Concerning the Human Understanding, Other meta- 
physical works of Hume's are An Inquiry Concerning the Prin- 
ciples of Morals, The Natural History of Beligion, and Dialogues 
on Natural BeligionA 

In 1776 Adam Smith (1723-1790) published the first work on 
political economy. In this he advocated principles of free trade, 
and promulgated the idea that labor, not money, is the true 
source of national wealth. This is entitled An Inquiry into the 
Natiwe and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. 

One of the greatest lights in physical science of this age, in 
England, was Dr. Joseph Priestley (1733-1804), whose dis- 
covery of Oxygen u was to chemistry what the discovery of 
gravitation was to the celestial mechanism," so that he has 
been well styled " the Newton of chemistry." He was as 
earnest in his religious investigations as in his scientific re- 
searches. Dissenting from the commonly received doctrines 
of the church, he was early imbued with the belief in Uni- 
tarianism. In the face of opposition and abuse he fearlessly 
maintained and promulgated his belief. % 



* His chief offence against Orthodoxy was his avowed disbelief in miracles, assert- 
ing that it was more probable that human testimony should be false, than that the 
grand harmony of nature's laws should be interrupted. It was not against religion, 
but against dogmatic theology, that Hume contended. 

f Hume's speculations invited other theorists into the field, some in support of his 
ideas, but most of them to oppose him. Among the latter Dr. Thomas Reid (1710- 
1796) was most prominent, who, in his Inquiry into the Human Mind, made a direct 
attack upon Hume. 

X So great was the opposition which his theological works created that he found 
it necessary, he said, to write a pamphlet annually in their defence ! After several 
of his publications were issued, a mob in Birmingham, where he resided, set fire to 
his house, destroying a valuable library, apparatus, and specimens. Soon after this 
he emigrated to America, and settled in Northumberland, Pennsylvania. Here he 
reared a little church, where, until his death, in 1804, he continued to preach his 
doctrines, now widely spread over the civilized world. 
14 



158 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



History 

This age produced the great trio of historians, Hume, Gib- 
bon, and Robertson, and the great work in biography, Bos- 
well's Life of Johnson. 

Hume wrote A History of England from the Invasion of Julius 
Ccesar to the Revolution of 1688. 

Edward Gibbon (1737-1794), like Hume, was affected by 
the skepticism of the time. His great work is TJie Decline and 
Fall of the Roman Empire. 

William Robertson (1721-1793) wrote A History of Scotland 
during the Reigns of Mary and James VI. till his Accession to the 
Throne of England, A History of the Emperor Charles V. of Ger- 
many, and A History of America. 

SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

Through the indefatigable labor and devotion of James Bos- 
well (1740-1795), we have a more perfect realization of Dr. 
Johnson (1709-1784) than of any man of that period. We see 
him as the great dictator in the literary world of London ; we 
grow familiar with his eccentricities, close our eyes to the jerks 
and contortions of his body, and see only his manly strife with 
adversity, the sustained integrity of his purpose, his considerate 
care for others, and his love for human kind. 

Johnson was one who, by patient, upward toiling, at last 
won the summit of literary fame. He was a Conservative in 
politics and religion. His strong prejudices kept him a Tory, 
and his strong religious sentiments kept his faith unswerving. 
The skepticism of the age he did not take the pains to sift. 
He was English in everything— in thought, in education, and 
feeling. "He had studied," says Macaulay, "not the genus 
man, but the species Londoner." 

Johnson was born in Lichfield. His father was a poor book- 
seller, and not able to defray the college expenses of his son ; 
so, leaving college without a degree, Johnson at first tried 
teaching. Only three pupils came to his school. One was 
David GtArrick (1716-1779), between whom and Johnson a 
life-long friendship was formed. 

The school not succeeding, Johnson and G-arrick together set 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



159 



out for London to seek their fortunes. Garrick, with his hith- 
erto undiscovered histrionic talent, soon became the most pop- 
ular of English actors, while Johnson toiled in the field of liter- 
ature as the veriest day-laborer, earning sometimes scarcely 
enough to pay for a night's lodging.* In this bitterest experi- 
ence of unrecognized power, he wrote his satire entitled Lon- 
don. Before leaving Lichfield he had written a tragedy, called 
Irene, and through his friend Garrick it was brought out on the 
London stage, t 

In 1747 Johnson issued a Plan for an English Dictionary, 
addressing the prospectus to Lord Chesterfield. That gentle- 
man gave but little heed to this compliment ; but, undismayed, 
the great lexicographer toiled on, writing, at intervals, minor 
works for his support. The Vanity of Human Wishes was written 
in imitation of the tenth satire of Juvenal. The Rambler and 
the Idler were two periodical papers in the style of the Tatler 
and Spectator. The latter was of short continuance. The 
Rambler was issued twice a week, but the style was too sombre 
and too pedantic to suit the general reader. 

In 1755, after seven years of earnest labor, the Dictionary of 
the English Language was completed and published. The indif- 
ference with which Lord Chesterfield had received the dedica- 
tion of the plan of the dictionary irritated Johnson ; and, when 
the work was completed and Chesterfield wrote two articles 
praising the dictionary, Dr. Johnson took it as a "courtly de- 
vice" on the part of Chesterfield to have the completed work 
dedicated to himself, as the prospectus had been seven years 
before. Scorning the proffered patronage bestowed at that late 
day, Johnson wrote to Chesterfield the following letter, which, 
for manly disdain and elegance of sarcasm, is unequalled : 

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. 

" My Lord : — I have been lately informed, by the proprietor of The 
World, that two papers, in which my dictionary is recommended to the 

* Independent from his boyhood, he would accept nothing that he did not earn. 
While at college a pair of new shoes, that had been kindly left for his acceptance by 
one who noticed his need, were flung into the street by the proud-spirited youth. 

f The first night of its performance Johnson appeared in one of the side boxes, in 
a scarlet waistcoat and a gold-laced hat, fancying that as the author he owed it to 
himself and to the public to dress in a distinguished manner. 



160 



HISTORY OF EXGLISH LITERATURE. 



public, were written by your lordship. To be so distinguished is an 
honor which, being very little accustomed to favors from the great, I 
know not well how to receive, or in what terms to acknowledge. 

" When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your lord- 
ship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment 
of your address ; and could not forbear to wish that I might boast myself 
le vainqueur da vainqueur de la tare: that I might obtain that regard for 
which I saw the world contending ; but I found my attendance so little 
encouraged, that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue 
it. When I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had ex- 
hausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar 
can possess. I had done all that I could ; and no man is well pleased 
to have his all neglected, be it ever so little. 

" Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I waited in your out- 
ward rooms, or was repulsed from your door ; during which time I have 
been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which it is useless to 
complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication, with- 
out one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of 
favor. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before. 

" The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and 
found him a native of the rocks. • 

" Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man 
struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached the ground, 
encumbers him with help ? The notice which you have been pleased 
to take of my labors, had it been early, had been kind ; but it has been 
delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it ; till I am solitary, 
and cannot impart it ; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it 
is no very cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit 
has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider 
me as owing that to a patron which Providence has enabled me to do 
for myself. 

" Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any 
favorer of learning, I shall not be disappointed, though I should con- 
clude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have been long awakened 
from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so much 
exaltation, my lord, 

" Your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant, 

Samuel Johxsox." 

Johnson had but little knowledge of the basis or structure 
of the English language. Of its Teutonic life-blood he was 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON 



161 



wholly ignorant ; so that the Dictionary, with respect to its 
etymology, is imperfect ; but the definitions, and quotations 
illustrating the use of words, are excellent, most especially 
when we consider that it was the first work of the kind in the 
language. 

Johnson's strong individuality is as observable in the Dic- 
tionary as in any of his writings. His definitions are marked 
by prejudices and characteristic independence ; as, when lie 
defines a "patron " as " one who countenances, supports, or pro- 
tects," and adds, by way of emphasis, u commonly a wretch 
who supports with insolence and is paid with flattery." 

"Oats " he defines as u a grain which, in England, is gener- 
ally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people." 

"Pension, an allowance made to any one without an equiva- 
lent. In England, it is generally understood to mean pay given 
to a state hireling for treason to his country."* 

"Pensioner, a slave of state hired by a stipend to obey his 
master." 

"Lexicographer, a writer of dictionaries, a harmless drudge." 

"Network, aoy thing reticulated or decussated at equal dis- 
tances, with interstices between the intersections." 

Basselas was written to pay the expenses of his mother's 
funeral. Its subject is still his favorite theme, the vanity of 
human wishes. His edition of Shakespeare was issued in 1765. 
It added but little to his fame. 

Johnson's happiest hours were those spent at the Literary 
Club, which had been organized by Sir Joshua Reynolds and 
himself, t The writings of Dr. Johnson but half convey the 



* Johnson himself afterwards received a pension from the King, and, although 
reluctant to receive it, it was a happy release from the bondage of poverty. He thus 
expressed his obligation : " The English language does not afford me terms adequate 
to my feelings on this occasion. I must have recourse to the French. I am penefre 
with his Majesty's goodness." Johnson, in turn, had his pensioners. His house in 
Bolt court was the asylum of no less than six poor people, all with exaggerated pe- 
culiarities and with but little love for each other. He writes : " Mrs. Williams hates 
everybody ; Levett hates Desmoulins, and does not love Williams ; Desmoulins hates 
them both ; Poll loves none of them." And yet with these quarrelsome pensioners 
upon his bounty he divided his own small allowance, and tolerated their ingratitude, 
paying a servant extra wages to bear with their ill-temper and strife. 

t During Johnson's life this Club numbered among its members, besides t he two 
14* L 



162 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



character of his mind. It is in his conversation,* in his quick 
flashes of wit, united to profound wisdom, that we see his gi- 
gantic mental structure. 

Wine and its effects were the frequent subjects of conversa- 
tion. On the side of total abstinence Johnson stood alone. 
At a dinner at General Paoli's he said : 

" Wine makes a man better pleased with himself. I do not say that 
it makes him more pleasing to others. The danger is, that while a 
man grows better pleased with himself, he may be growing less pleasing 
to others. Wine gives a man nothing. It only puts in motion what 
has been locked up." 

To one of his friends suggesting that " wine, then, is a key 
which opens a box, but the box may be full or empty," John- 
son replied : 

" Nay, sir, conversation is the key ; wine is a picklock, which forces 
open the box, and injures it." 

On one occasion, speaking of a nobleman who was never sat- 
isfied unless his guests u drank hard," Johnson said : 

" That is from having had people around him whom he is accustomed 
to command. From what I have heard of him, one would not wish to 
sacrifice himself to such a man. If he must always have somebody to 
drink with him, he should buy a slave, and then he would be sure to 
have it. They who submit to drink as another pleases, make them- 
selves his slaves." 



chief founders, the illustrious Edmund Burke, Goldsmith, Dr. Thomas Percy, David 
Garrick, Sir William Jones, Boswell, Charles James Fox, Edward Gibbon, Adam 
Smith, the brothers Joseph and Thomas Warton, and Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 
At this Club Johnson's marvellous conversational powers were exercised. He was 
the great central figure, and loved to be surrounded by those who, as he said, could 
send him back every ball that he threw. This Club became a power in the literary 
world. The meetings were held once a week at the Turk's Head, in Gerrard street. 

It was quite fashionable for ladies to mingle in the literary assemblies when held 
in their own homes, and to take part in the conversation. These social literary 
gatherings were called Blue-Stocking Clubs, and the ladies who attended them Blue 
Stockings, though the title came from the fact of one of the gentlemen, Mr. Stilling- 
fleet, always wearing blue stockings. So excellent was the conversation of this gen- 
tleman, that when he was absent from the party, it used to be said, " We can do 
nothing without the blue stockings." 

* " Johnson used to say that he made it a constant rule to talk as well as he could, 
both as to sentiment and expression." 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



163 



Of his own experience in wine drinking, he said : 

" I did not leave off wine because I could not bear it, but because it 
is so much better for a man to be sure that he is never to be intoxicated, 
never to lose the power over himself. I shall not begin to drink wine 
again till I grow old and want it." * 

In 1773, in company with Boswell, Dr. Johnson visited the 
Hebrides, and his journey through Scotland greatly overcame 
his prejudice against the people of that country. One gener- 
ous Scotchman, in reverting to Johnson's definition of oats, as 
a grain which in England is given to horses, but in Scotland 
supports the people, said, "And where will you find better 
horses or better men ? " 

As may be supposed, Johnson had no sympathy with Eng- 
land's rebellious American subjects. He was no statesman and 
no politician, and his political treatise, Taxation no Tyranny. 
was a complete failure, as even Boswell admitted. 

His last and best work, TJie Lives of the Poets, was undertaken 
at the request of some London booksellers.! In this work the 
peculiarities of his style, often called Johnsonese, were very 
much modified. He was as true to his prejudices as to his 
principles, and many of the Lives suffer at his hands. His dis- 
like of Milton's puritanic opinions caused him to be unmindful 
of half of Milton's greatness, and to Gray he was positively 
narrow and unjust. Johnson had not a genuine love for 
poetry. His criticisms were based on established rules, 
which he himself could write by ; so that in Shakespeare and 
Milton, who wrote before Dryclen and Pope had prescribed the 
path in which the muse should travel, Johnson could see more 
violations of poetic laws than beauty and grandeur of poetic 
imagery. And yet finer praise of Shakespeare has seldom been 
given than that which Johnson gave in the Preface to his edi- 
tion of Shakespeare : 

" The sand heaped by one flood is scattered by another ; but the rock 
always continues in its place. The stream of Time, which is continu- 

* He was then in his seventieth year. 

t Boswell, regretting that Johnson was not to have the choosing of the poets 
whose lives he was to write, but " was to furnish a preface and life to any poet the 
booksellers pleased," asked him if he would do this to any dunce's works, if they 
desired it. "Yes, and say he was a dunce," said Johnson. 



164 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



ally washing the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes without injury 
by the adamant of Shakespeare." 

Johnson's love of antithesis is displa} T ed in his wonderful 
parallel between Dryden and Pope. Every word falls into its 
proper place, and every sentence is as clear as it is harmonious. 
The peculiar Johnsonese style which his earlier writings illus- 
trate was best described by Goldsmith, when he said, if John- 
son should write a story about little fishes, he " would make 
the little fishes talk like whales." The sentence preceding the 
one above quoted from the Preface to Shakespeare is an exam- 
ple of his inflated style : * 

" The accidental compositions of heterogeneous modes are dissolved 
by the chance which combined them ; but the uniform simplicity of 
primitive qualities neither admits increase nor suffers decay. The 
sand," etc. 

Johnson was buried in the south transept of Westminster 
Abbey, near the foot of Shakespeare's monument, and near his 
friend G-arrick. A blue flagstone bears the simple inscription, 
in Latin, of his name and age — Samuel Johnson, LL.D. Died 
13th day of December, 1784, aged 75. 

The genius of Edmund Burke (1730-1797), displayed itself 
in Johnson's famous Literary Club. In Parliament he was 
conservative, and dreaded every form of revolution in govern- 
ment. In the trouble with the American colonies he favored 
compromise, recommending that Great Britain should assert 
her right to tax the colonies, but that she should, at the same 
time, refrain from exercising that right. His career has been 
thus summed up : 

" His life is a history of those eventful times, for in them he acted a 
part more conspicuous than any other man. His able and eloquent op- 
position to those infatuated measures of the ministry which led to and 
prolonged the contest between England and our own country — his advo- 
cacy of the freedom of the press — of an improved libel law — of Catholic 
emancipation— of economical reform — of the abolition of the slave- 
trade — his giant efforts in the impeachment of Warren Hastings— and 
his most eloquent and uncompromising hostility to the French Kevolu- 
tion, in his speeches in Parliament, and in his well-known 1 ^Reflections 



* See also definition of Network, p. 161. 



THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



165 



on the Revolution in France ' — all these will ever cause him to be 
viewed as one of the warmest and ablest friends of man." 

Burke was born in Dublin, Ireland. He was a student at 
Trinity College, Dublin, with Goldsmith, and graduated there 
at the age of eighteen. He soon after went to London to study 
law. Here he contributed to periodicals. His first publication 
of any importance was his Vindication of Natural Society, a 
satire in imitation of Lord Bolingbroke's attack upon revealed 
religion. 

Burke's next essay was On the Sublime and Beautiful. This 
placed him at once in the first ranks of writers on criticism. 
Other publications followed, including the Annual Begister, 
which he edited and mainly supported. In 1774 he made his 
Speech on American Taxation, and in the next year his equally 
famous Speech on American Conciliation. 

In the trial of Warren Hastings, which lasted for seven years, 
Burke was the chief prosecutor. His opposition to the French 
Ke volution was bitter and strong, and in 1790 he published his 
celebrated Beflections on the Bevolution of France* 

THE LETTERS OP JUNIUS. 

For three years — from 1769 to 1772 — the literary and political 
world was kept in a state of admiration and suspense concern- 
ing the authorship of a series of letters signed Junius, which 
appeared in the Public Advertiser of London. Their tone was 
that of bitter invective and powerful sarcasm. The letters 
were addressed to different members of the Ministry, and 
even to the King himself, but so complete was the secrecy of 
the authorship, that to this day it is not known with certainty 
who wrote them. They were attributed to many of the lead- 
ing men of the day, Burke among the number, but it is now 
generally believed that they were written by Sir Philip 
Francis (1740-1818), a leading member of the Opposition in 
the House of Commons. 

No period in England's history has ever produced such 
statesmanlike eloquence as the Letters of Junius and the 
speeches of Burke, Pitt, Sheridan, and Fox. 



* This was answered by Thomas Paine (1737-1809) in The Rights of Man. 



166 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Age of Dr, 
Johnson. 

GOLDSMITH. 

From The Deserted Village. 

Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn : 

Amid thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 

And desolation saddens all thy green ; 

One only master grasps the whole domain, 

And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 

But, choked with sedges, w r orks its weedy way ; 

Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 

The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 

Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 

And tires their echoes w T ith unvaried cries. 

Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 

And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 

And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 

Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

* # * # -* 
Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from below; 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young ; 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 

The playful children just let loose from school ; 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 
And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 

* # * . * -x- # 
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 

There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
The village master taught his little school: 
A man severe he was, and stern to view : 
I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 



LITERATURE OF TEE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 167 



Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 

The day's disasters in his morning face; 

Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 

Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 

Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 

The love he bore to learning was in fault ; 

The village all declared how much he knew — 

'T was certain he could write, and cipher too, 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 

And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 

For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ; 

While words of learned length and thundering sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very spot 

Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 

From The Good-Nattjred Man. 

What a pity it is that any man's good-will to others should produce 
so much neglect of himself as to require correction ! Yet we must touch 
his weaknesses with a delicate hand. There are some faults so nearly 
allied to excellence that we can scarce weed out the vice without eradi- 
cating the virtue. 



I saw with indignation the errors of a mind that only sought applause 
from others ; that easiness of disposition, which, though inclined to the 
right, had not courage to condemn the wrong. I saw with regret those 
splendid errors, that still took name from some neighboring duty ; your 
charity, that was but injustice ; your benevolence, that was but weak- 
ness ; and your friendship but credulity. — Ibid. 

YOUNG. 

From Night Thoughts. 
Night L 

Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! 
He, like the world, his ready visit pays 



168 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



Where Fortune smiles : the wretched he forsakes ; 

Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe. 
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. 
* * * * * 

Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. 
Silence, how dead ! and darkness, how profound ! 
Nor eye. nor listening ear, an object finds ; 
Creation sleeps. Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause ; 
An awful pause ! prophetic of her end. 
***** 

Be wise to-day : "t is madness to defer ; 
Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; 
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life. 
Procrastination is the thief of time. 
***** 
Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears 
The palm. " that all men are about to live," 
Forever on the brink of being born. 

***** 
All promise is poor dilatory man, 
And that through every stage. When young indeed. 
In full content we sometimes nobly rest. 
Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish. 
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. 
At thirty man suspects himself a fool; 
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 
At fifty chides his infamous delay. 
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; 
In all the magnanimity of thought. 
Resolves, and re-resolves: then dies the same. 

Night II. 

Youth is not rich in time: it may be poor; 

Part with it as with money, sparing : pay 

No moment, but in purchase of its worth : 

And what its worth, ask death-beds: they can tell. 

Part with it as with life, reluctant : big 

With holy hope of nobler time to come : 

Time higher aimed, still nearer the great mark 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 169 



Of men and angels, virtue more divine. 

* * * * * 

Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed ; 
Who does the best his circumstance allows, 
Does well, acts nobly ; angels can do no more. 
****** 

The man 

Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour. 

"I've lost a day!" — The prince who nobly cried, 

Had been an emperor without his crown. 

* * * # * 
Who murders time, he crushes in the birth 
A power ethereal, only not adored. 

* * * - j* * 

We waste, not use. our time: we breathe, not live; 
Time wasted is existence ; used, is life. 

* * * * * * 
The spirit walks of every day deceased : 

And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns. 
****** 
The man who consecrates his hours 
By vigorous efforts and an honest aim, 
At once he draws the sting of life and death ; 
He walks with Nature, and her paths are peace. 

* * * * * 

'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 
And ask them what report they bore to heaven. 

* * * ' *' * 

How blessings brighten as they take their leave. 

THOMSON. 

From The Seasons. 
Winter. 

Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends, 
At first thin-wavering, till at last the flakes 
Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day 
With a continual flow. The cherished fields 
Put on their winter robe of purest white. 
'Tis brightness all. save where the new snow melts 
Along the mazy current. Low the woods 
15 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Bow their hoar head ; and ere the languid sun, 
Faint from the west, emits his evening ray ; 
Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill, 
Is one wide dazzling waste, that buries wide 
The works of man. Drooping, the laborer-ox 
Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands 
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, 
Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around 
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon 
That Providence assigns them. 

Spring. 

Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of morn ; 
Ere yet the shadows fly, he, mounted, sings 
Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 
Calls up the tuneful nations. Every cop?e 

Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush 
Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads 
Of the coy quiristers that lodge within, 
Are prodigal of harmony. 

Delightful task to rear the tender thought, 
And teach the young idea how to shoot. 

Autumn. 

The pale descending year, yet pleasing still, 
A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leaf 
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove, 
Oft startling such as studious walk below, 
And slowly circles through the wavering air. 

COLLINS. 

On the Death of the Poet Thomson. 

In yonder grave a Druid lies, 

Where slowly winds the stealing wave ; 

The year's best sweets shall duteous rise 
To deck its poet's sylvan grave! 

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 

His airy harp shall now be laid, 
That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds, 

May love through life the soothing shade. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



Then maids and youths shall linger here, 
And, while its sounds at distance swell, 

Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear 
To hear the woodland pilgrims knell. 

Kemembrance oft shall haunt the shore 
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, 

And oft suspend the dashing oar 
To bid his gentle spirit rest! 

From Ode to Evening. 

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear 
Like thy own solemn springs, 
Thy springs and dying gales ; 

O, nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With brede ethereal wove, 

O'erhang his wavy bed: 

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, 
With short, shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing, 

Or where the beetle winds 

His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises, midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim, borne in heedless hum ; 
Now teach me, maid composed, 
To breathe some soften' d strain. 

GRAY. 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 

Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How r bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of Heraldry, the pomp of Power. 

And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er gave, 
Await alike th' inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where through the. long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 

Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust 

Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre: 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 



But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of Time did ne'er unroll; 

Chill Penury repress' d their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene. 
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood; 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 

The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply: 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, 
15* 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonor'd dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; 

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn : 

" There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, 

Or crazed with Care, or cross' d in hopeless Love. 

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom' d hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : 

" The next, with dirges due in sad array, 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him bon 

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown : 

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send: 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 175 



He gave to misery all he had) a tear, 
He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wisrr'd) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose. 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 

The bosom of his Father and his God. 

From The Bard. 

This ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales, that Edward L, 
when he completed the conquest of that country, ordered all the bards 
that fell into his hands to be put to death. 

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King ! 

Confusion on thy banners wait ! 
Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, 

They mock the air with idle state. 
Helm nor hauberk's twisted mail, 
Xor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears. 

* * * * * 
On a rock whose haughty brow 

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood. 
Robed in the sable garb of woe, 

With haggard eyes the Poet stood. 
Loose his beard, and hoary hair 
Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air ; 
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 

* * * * * 
Cold is Cadwailo's tongue, 

That hush'd the stormy main, 
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : 

Mountains, ye mourn in vain 
Modred, whose magic song 

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. 

On dreary Arvon's shore they lie. 
Smear' d with gore, and ghastly pale : 
Far, far aloof th' anrighted ravens sail ; 

The famish' d eagle screams, and passes by. 

Dear lost companions of my tuneful art. 
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, 



176 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, 
Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 

No more I weep. They do not sleep. 
On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 

I see them sit ; they linger yet, 
Avengers of their native land: 

With me in dreadful harmony they join, 

And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 

Weave the warp, and weave the woof, 

The winding-sheet of Edward's race. 
Give ample room and verge enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 
Mark the year, and mark the night, 
When Severn shall re-echo with affright 
The shrieks of death through Berkley's roof that ring. 
Shrieks of an agonizing King ! 

From Ode on Eton College, 

To each his sufferings : all are men, 

Condemned alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 

Th' unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, 
Since sorrow never comes too late. 

And happiness too swiftly flies ! 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more; — where ignorance is bliss, 
'T is folly to be wise. 

HENRY FIELDING. 

From Tom Jones. 

Little more worth remembering occurred during the play, at the end 
of which Jones asked him which of the players he liked the best. To 
this he answered, with some appearance of indignation at the question, 
" The king, without doubt." 

"Indeed, Mr. Partridge," says Mrs. Miller, "you are not of the same 
opinion with the town ; for they are all agreed that Hamlet is acted by 
the best player * who ever was on the stage." 



* Garrick. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF DR. JOHNSON. 177 



" He the best player ! " cried Partridge with a contemptuous sneer. 
" Why I could act as well as he myself. I am sure if I had seen a 
ghost, I should have looked in the very same manner and done just as 
he did." 

JOHNSON. 

From The Rambler.— No. 185. 

A wise man will make haste to forgive, because he knows the true 
value of time, and will not suffer it to pass away in unnecessary pain. 
He that willingly suffers the corrosions of inveterate hatred, and gives 
up his days and nights to the gloom of malice and perturbations of 
stratagem, cannot surely be said to consult his ease. Eesentment is a 
union of sorrow with malignity, a combination of a passion which all 
endeavor to avoid with a passion which all concur to detest. 

********* 

Nothing can be great which is not right. Nothing which reason con- 
demns can be suitable to the dignity of the human mind. To be driven 
by external motives from the path which our own heart approves, to 
give way to anything but conviction, to suffer the opinion of others to 
rule our choice or overpower our resolves, is to submit tamely to the 
lowest and most ignominious slavery, and to resign the right of direct- 
ing our own lives. 



Though learning may be conferred by solitude, its application must 
be attained by general converse. He has learned to no purpose that is 
not able to teach ; and he will always teach unsuccessfully, who cannot 
recommend his sentiments by his diction or address. 

From The Letters of Junius. 

Letter to the King. 

Sir:— It is the misfortune of your life, and originally the cause of 
every reproach and distress which has attended your government, that 
you should never have been acquainted with the language of truth, 
until you heard it in the complaints of your people. It is not, how- 
ever, too late to correct the error of your education. We are still in- 
clined to make an indulgent allowance for the pernicious lessons you 
received in your youth, and to form the most sanguine hopes from the 
natural benevolence of your disposition. We are far from thinking you 
capable of a direct, deliberate purpose to invade those original rights of 
your subjects, on which all their civil and political liberties depend. 

M 



178 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Had it been possible for us to entertain a suspicion so dishonorable to 
your character, we should long since have adopted a style of remon- 
strance very distant from the humility of complaint. The doctrine in- 
culcated by our laws, thai the king can do no wrong, is admitted without 
reluctance. We separate the amiable, good-natured prince from the 
folly and treachery of his servants, and the private virtues of the man 
from the vices of his government. Were it not for this just distinction, 
I know not whether your majesty's condition or that of the English 
nation would deserve most to be lamented. 

BURKE. 

Character of Junius. 

Where, Mr. Speaker, shall we look for the origin of this relaxation 
of the laws and of all government ? How comes this Junius to have 
broken through the cobwebs of the law, and to range uncontrolled, un- 
punished through the land? The myrmidons of the court have been 
long, and are still, pursuing him in vain. They will not spend their 
time upon me or you : no : they disdain such vermin when the mighty 
boar of the forest, that has broken through all their toils, is before them. 
But what will all their efforts avail ? No sooner has he wounded one 
than he lays down another dead at his feet. For my part, when I saw his 
attack upon the king, I own my blood ran cold. I thought he had ven- 
tured too far, and that there was an end of his triumphs : not that he 
had not asserted many truths. Yes. sir, there are in that composition 
many bold truths, by which a wise prince might profit. But, while I 
expected from this daring flight his final ruin and fall, behold him ris- 
ing still higher, and coming down souse upon both houses of Parlia- 
ment. Yes, he did make you his quarry, and you still bleed from the 
wounds of his talons. You crouched, and still crouch beneath his rage. 
Nor has he dreaded the terror of your brow, sir ; he has attacked even 
you ; he has ; and I believe you have no reason to triumph in the en- 
counter. In short, after carrying away our royal eagle in his pounces, 
and dashing him against a rock, he has laid you prostrate. Kings, 
Lords, and Commons are but the sport of his fury. Were he a mem- 
ber of this house, what might not be expected from his knowledge, his 
firmness, and integrity ! He would be easily known by his contempt of 
all danger, by his penetration, by his vigor. Nothing would escape hi* 
vigilance and activity ; bad ministers could conceal nothing from his 
sagacity ; nor could promises or threats induce him to conceal anything 
from the public. 



SYLLABUS. 



179 



Of Sir Joshua Keynolds. 

Sir Joshua Reynolds was, on very many accounts, one of the most 
memorable men of his time. He was the first Englishman who added 
the praise of the elegant arts to the other glories of his country. In 
taste, in grace, in facility, in happy invention, and in the richness and 
harmony of coloring he was equal to the great masters of the renowned 
ages. In portrait he went beyond them ; for he communicated to that 
department of the art in which English artists are the most engaged, a 
variety, a fancy, and a dignity derived from the higher branches, which 
even those who professed them in a superior manner did not always 
preserve when they delineated individual nature. His portraits remind 
the spectator of the invention of history and of the amenity of land- 
scape. In painting portraits he appears not to be raised upon that plat- 
form, but to descend to it from a higher sphere. His paintings illus- 
trate his lessons, and his lessons seem to have been derived from his 
paintings. He possessed the theory as perfectly as the practice of 
his art. To be such a painter he was a profound and penetrating 
philosopher. 

WILLIAM PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM. 

A long train of these practices has at length unwillingly convinced 
me that there is something behind the throne greater than the king 
himself. — Speech, March 2, 1770. 

The poorest man may, in his cottage, bid defiance to all the force of 
the crown. It may be frail ; its roof may shake ; the wind may blow 
through it ; the storms may enter, the rain may enter — but the King of 
England cannot enter ! All his forces dare not cross the threshold of 
the ruined tenement. — Speech on the Excise Bill. 

If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop 
was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms, — never — 
never — never! — Speech, November 18, 1777. 

Syllabus. 

The age of Dr. Johnson is one of especial interest, particularly to the 
American student. William Pin, the friend of the Colonies, was the 
great figure in the political world, and Dr. Johnson in the literary. 

It was an age of poverty for authors. The patronage enjoyed by writers 
of the preceding age had ended. A genuine taste for literature was not 
yet created. 



180 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Poetry still bore Pope's artificial stamp, but was gradually merging into 
a more natural style. Gray and Collins were lyric poets. Goldsmith was 
poet, dramatist, novelist, and essayist. Thomson was the poet of nature. 
Young resembled Pope in style. 

Literary impostures were a peculiar feature of this period. Thomas 
Chatterton wrote in an antiquated style, pretending that his verses had been 
written many centuries before, and were found by him. Macpherson is by 
some thought to have written much of the poetry which he pretended was 
Ossian's. The author of the Letters of Junius is supposed to have been 
Sir Philip Francis. 

The Drama was best represented by the two comedies of Goldsmith, by 
Sheridan's plays, and by the acting of Garrick. 

The Novel dates its existence to this period. Samuel Richardson is usu- 
ally styled the Father of the English Novel. 

Methodism took its rise in this age. It was the age also of skepticism. 

The three great historians were Hume, Gibbon, and Robertson. 

Dr. Johnson was conservative, prejudiced, and narrow, but honest, earn- 
est, and grand in his way. He is best remembered for his conversation, 
and as being the centre of the London literary world. 



BURNS. 



CHAPTER X. 
The New Era— A Return to Nature. 

The Age of Burns and Cowper. 

1784—1800. 

THE eighteenth century may be divided into three distinct 
periods — that of Pope, of Johnson, and that of Burns. In 
the age just ended there was a perceptible dawning of natural 
vigor, but it was reserved for the next era to show the com- 
plete return to nature in the spontaneous outpouring of song. 
It was reserved for Robert Burns, the u Ayrshire Plowman," 
to break through the soil hardened by Pope's roller and level- 
ing processes. 

ROBERT BURNS. 

This singer had no need to go to classic Greece or Borne for 
inspiration. Close at hand he found it. Every flower, every 
dumb animal around, furnished him a theme. Happy for this 
plowman, and for the world of poetry, if all of his inspirations 
had been as innocent as these. Like his great prototype, 
Chaucer, he was truest to himself and nature when alone with 
her in open fields, with the pure, fresh air of heaven around him. 

Near the banks of " bonny Doon " stands the little clay- 
built cottage in which Robert Bmxs (1759-1796) was born. 
Close by are the ruins of "Alloway's auld haunted kirk," and 
two miles to the north is the town of Ayr. Perhaps no better 
16 ' 181 



182 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 



description of Burns's home could be given than that which he 
himself has left us in the Cotter's Saturday Sight, when 

" With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet. 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers ; 1 
The social hours, swift-wing d unnotic'd fleet. 

Each tells the uncos 2 that he sees or hears. 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years : 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle and her shears. 

Gars 3 auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due." 

William Burns, the poet's father, was a man of sterling qual- 
ities, ennobling poverty and hardship, and exemplifying his 
son's brave words. 

" The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that.'' 

To educate his young family was his one ambition. His own 
education was superior to that of most farmers in his condition, 
and to him all the family turned for guidance and instruction. 
In that humble, clay-walled cottage were to be found, not only 
all the school-books common at that time, and the familiar tra- 
ditions of Scotland's heroes, but the plays of Shakespeare, the 
sermons of Jeremy Taylor, Locke on the Human Understanding. 
Boyle's lectures, Pope's complete works, and last, but not least, 
the works of Allan Ramsay and Robert Fergusson." On one 
occasion, u some one entering the house at meal-time found the 
whole family seated each with a spoon in one hand and a book 
in the other." 

The thrifty mother had a mind stored with old songs and 
traditions, which she repeated by the "clean hearths tane," 
lending cheer to many a winter's night. Like her husband, 
she was of a deeply religious nature. Robert was the eldest 
of seven children. Of all these the second brother, Gilbert. 



* From the reading of these two Scotch, poets Burns ascribed the waking of his 
own muse. " These," said he, " I pored over driving my cart or walking to labor, 
song by song, verse by verse, carefully noting the true, tender or sublime, from 
affectation and fustian.'' 

1 inquires. 2 strange things. 3 makes. 



THE AGE OF BURNS AND COWPER. 



183 



seems to have been to the poet the most companionable.* To- 
gether they studied their early lessons ; together they tilled the 
unyielding soil. From his eighteenth to his twenty-fifth year 
Robert Burns labored with his brother as a farm hand, receiv- 
ing from his father seven pounds a year for his services. His 
days were full of drudgery ; but as soon as the evening came 
and the farm work was ended, he bade farewell to toil and 
care, and gave himself up to pleasure — either to penning the 
verses he had composed while at his farm work, or to the social 
circle, not always the best. 

Poetry was Burns's highest enjoyment ; but it was not with 
him a sacred art. He loved it as he loved all things that added 
to his enjoyment. If he had known of his ultimate triumphs, 
he might possibly have resisted evil. 

Finally, discouraged with repeated failures in farming, he was 
about starting for the West Indies, when a letter from Dr. Black- 
lock, of Edinburgh, changed the whole current of his existence. 
The poet had published a volume of poems for the purpose of 
defraying his expenses to the West Indies, and these meeting 
the appreciative eye of Dr. Blacklock convinced that gentle- 
man of the rare genius of their author. 

"His opinion," says Burns, "that I would meet with encouragement 
in Edinburgh for a second edition of my poems, fired me so much that 
away I posted for that city without a single acquaintance or a single 
letter of introduction." 

A new experience awaited him, and for one brilliant winter he 
was welcomed into the highest society of Edinburgh. Return- 
ing to Ayrshire he married Jean Armour, and removed to a 
new farm at Ellisland. But his crops failed, as they always 
had failed, and he sought employment as an excise man at 
Dumfries. This was the last step towards a downward career. 
At war with himself and the world, he sunk lower and lower 
in the esteem of both, trying, alas ! to drown his remorse in 
madding pleasures. But the spark of genuine manhood still 

* " Gilbert used to recall with delight the days when they had to go with one or two 
companions to cut peat for winter fuel, because Robert was sure to enliven their toil 
with a rattling fire of witty remarks on men and things, mingled with the expres- 
sions of a genial, glowing heart, perfectly free from the taint which he afterwards 
acquired by contact with the world." 



184 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



glowed within him, and the year before his death he wrote 
that noblest poem, A Man 's a Man. 

His chief poems are, The Cotter's Saturday Night, Tarn 
O'Shanter, Holy Willie's Prayer, Address to the Deil, Address 
to a Mountain Daisy, To a Mouse, To the Toothache; his heroic 
poem, Bannockburn, and A Man's a Man. 

Among his best songs are those addressed to Highland Mary* 
Bonny Doon, Sweet Afton, My Heart 's in the Highlands. 

Auld Lang Syne and Comin' thro' the Bye are adaptations of 
old Scotch songs. 

His prose was remarkable for its stiffness, even his letters 
are constrained. He says : 

" Leeze me on rhyme ! it 's aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, at leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Though rough an' raploch be her measure, 
She's seldom lazy."f 

WILLIAM OOWPER. 

Not to Burns alone does the world of poetry owe its new 
birth. The age was a period of revolutions in thought of every 
character. American independence, the struggle for liberty in 
France, were themes agitating all minds, and opening up a new 
era to mankind. 

While Burns was pouring forth his spontaneous songs, a 



* " Highland Mary " is one of the unsullied pictures Burns has left us. Death 
sanctified her in the poet's memory and in ours. 

t His wife describes his moods as she observed them when he composed both Highland 
Mary and Tarn o' Shanter. As the anniversary of Highland Mary's death approached, 
he was always observed to grow melancholy. It was in October, 1789, that he wrote 
his song To Mary in Heaven. His wife says of him that, after a day of toil, " When 
twilight came he grew sad about something, and could not rest. He wandered first 
up the water-side, and then went into the stack-yard, and then threw himself on 
some loose sheaves, and lay looking at the sky, and particularly at a large, bright 
star, which shone like another moon. At last, but that was long after I left him, 
he came home." The song was then completed. Tarn o' Shanter was composed the 
next year. Mrs. Burns describes his excited appearance as she found him on the 
banks of the Nith wildly gesticulating, and reciting aloud the verses that came into 
his mind. " I wish you could have seen him," said she ; " he was in such ecstasy, 
that the tears were happing down his cheeks ! " 



THE AGE OF BURNS AND COWPER. 



185 



brother poet, in England, William Cowper (1731-1800), with 
sweet refinement, was interpreting nature's quiet moods — was, 
like Burns, taking for his subjects of poetic inspiration themes 
of every-day life. The passing events of the day, too, stirred 
his quiet soul. He wrote : 

" My ear is pained, 
My soul is sick of every day's report. 
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled." 

And again he sighs : 

" Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 
Some boundless contiguity of shade, 
Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 
Of unsuccessful or successful war 
Might never reach me more." 

It was in quiet rural or domestic scenes that his spirit de- 
lighted. What a picture of fireside comfort in the lines : 

" Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 
And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each, 
So let us welcome peaceful evening in." 

The life of Cowper was a very sad one. Gifted with refined 
and tender sensibility, he became a prey to morbid religious 
melancholy, which for many years caused him to live under a 
cloud of insanity. 

Although descended through a long hne of noble families, 
from a king of England five hundred years before (Henry III.), 
Cowper cared little for these high pretensions. He says : 

" My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth, 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed beyond the skies." 

His touching lines on his Mother's Picture have made all his 
readers familiar with the little, crouching, timid child : 

" Wretch even then, life's journey just begun." 
16* 



186 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



We see the wistful, yearning little face at the nursery win- 
dow, watching the sad funeral train that follows the body of 
his loved mother ; and in the dejected, grief-stricken child we 
see the epitome of the man. 

At six years of age he was placed at a neighboring school, 
where the system of fagging was in full force.* At ten years 
of age he was sent to Westminster school, where he continued 
until his eighteenth year. Having spent three years in an at- 
torney's office, he entered the Middle Temple, where he con- 
tinued eleven years. A clerkship falling vacant in the House 
of Lords, and being at the disposal of one of Cowper's influen- 
tial relatives, it was offered to the poet, but the dread of ap- 
pearing before the House of Lords for an examination so preyed 
upon his sensitive mind, that he actually made attempts upon 
his own life. It was soon discovered that his nervous anxiety 
had resulted in insanity. A quiet retreat was secured for him 
with the congenial family of Unwins, with whom he spent the 
rest of his life. 

Cowper enjoyed the friendship of three excellent women, — 
Mrs. Unwin, whose motherly care of the invalid poet continued 
for more than twenty years : Lady Austin, the inspirer of some 
of his principal poems, and his cousin, Lady Hesketh, whose 
ample means sometimes provided for the comfort of both Cow- 
per and Mrs. Unwin. 

To cheer him in one of his gloomy moods, Lady Austin told 
Cowper the story of John Gilpin, the humor of which diverted 
him exceedingly, and before morning he had written a rhymed 
version of it. 

For more poems than John Gilpin we are indebted to Lady 
Austin. She next wished the poet to try his powers in blank 
verse. He hesitated to undertake the task, but finally said 
that he would if she would furnish a subject. " Oh! "she 
replied, " you can never be in want of a subject ; you can write 
upon anything: write upon — this so/a." He complied; and 
again we are indebted to Lady Austin for Cowper's Task. 



* Of one of the large boys who had become the-dread of this timid child, he said, 
in after-life, " I well remember being afraid to lift my eyes upon him higher than 
his knees, and I knew him better by his shoe-buckles than by any other part of his 
dress." 



THE AGE OF BURNS AND COWPER. 



187 



It is worthy of observation that every literary task of Cow- 
per's was suggested by a friend. His Hymns were suggested 
by Mr. Newton. His early poems were written to gratify 
Mrs. Unwin, and, as we have just seen, John Gilpin and Tlie 
Task were suggested by Lady Austin.* 

The little poem To Mary, written three years before the 
death of Mrs. Unwin, was one of his many tributes to her. 

" The twentieth year is well-nigh past 
Since first our sky was overcast ; 
Ah, would that this might be the last, 
My Mary ! 

" Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
I see thee daily weaker grow ; 
'T was my distress that brought thee low, 
My Mary ! " f 

His feeling of desertion by the supreme Giver of G-ood was 
the one ineradicable thought. It grew upon him, and but little 
of the time after Mrs. Unwin's death was his mind sufficiently 
quieted to take up his work of revision. His last poem was a 
reflection of his despair. It was called The Castaway. 

In the spring of 1800 Cowper died. Those who watched by 
his bedside scarcely knew when the change came, so gently 
did the angel of death pass by ; but on the face of the sleeper 
was observed a look of " holy surprise," as if the gates on 
golden hinges turning had opened wide to his astonished gaze, 
and divine love was all that he saw. 



* At the suggestion of his publisher, Cowper undertook an edition of Milton's 
works. The gentle poet had been so incensed at Johnson's treatment of Milton in 
his "Lives of the Poets," that he exclaimed, "I could thrash his old jacket till I 
made the pension jingle in his pocket ! " "I am convinced," he says, " that he has 
no ear for poetical numbers, or that it was stopped by prejudice against the harmony 
of Milton's. Was there ever anything so delightful as the music of ' Paradise Lost ' ? 
It is like that of a fine organ — has the fullest and the deepest tones of majesty, with 
all the softness and elegance of the Dorian flute." 

f Not alone in verse did Cowper sing her praise. His was the most grateful of 
hearts, and he fully appreciated the sacrifices she made for him, and her incessant 
care. 



188 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Age of Burns, 

BURNS. 

Bonny Doon. 

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair I 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary, ra' o' care ! 
Thou 'It break my heart, thou warbling bird, 

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : 
Thou minds me o' departed joys, 

Departed never to return. 

Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonny bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist no' o' my fate. 
Aft hae I rov'd by bonny Doon 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my fause lover stole my rose, 

But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Upon a morn in June; 
And sae I flourished in the morn, 

And sae was pu'd at noon. 

Bannockbttrn. 

Bruce? s Address to his Army. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victory ! 

Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
See the front of battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's power, 
Chains and slavery ! 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF BURNS. 



Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave? 

Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand or freeman fa', 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty 's in every blow ! 

Let us do or die ! 

From Tam O'Shanter. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown' d himself amang the nappy. 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure. 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious ! 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 
But pleasures are like poppies spread ; 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snowfalls in the river — 
A moment white, then melts forever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
Evanishing amid the storm. 

From Address to a Mouse. 

But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain ; 
The best laid schemes of mice and men 

Gang aft a gley, 
An lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 

For promised joy. 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Still thou art blest compar'd wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear! 
An' forward, tho' I canna' see, 

I guess an' fear ! 

From Address to a Louse on a Lady's Bonnet. 

wad some power the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us! 

It wad frae monie a blunder free us 
And foolish notion. 

From Address to the Unco Guid. 

Who made the heart, 't is He alone 

Decidedly can try us ; 
He knows each chord — its varying tone, 

Each spring— its various bias. 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it; 
What 's done, we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 

The Bonny Banks of Ayr. 

The gloomy night is gathering fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast ; 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 

1 see it driving o'er the plain; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scattered coveys meet secure; 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her ripening corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid azure sky 
She sees the scowling tempest fly ; 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave — 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonny banks of Ayr. 



LITERATURE OF TEE AGE OF BURNS. 



'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore, 
Though death in every shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear ! 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierced with many a wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonny banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past unhappy loves! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my foes I 
My peace with these, my love with those : — 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell, the bonny banks of Ayr ! 

COWPER. 

From The Task. 

Winter Evening in the Country. 

Hark! His the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, 
That with its wearisome but needful length 
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright ; 
He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 
With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks, 
News from all nations lumbering at his back. 
True to his charge, the close-packed load behind, 
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 
Is to conduct it to the destined inn ; 
And having dropped the expected bag, pass on. 
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch ! 
Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some ; 
To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, 
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks 
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains, 
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 
His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
But O, the important budget ! ushered in 
With such heart-shaking music, who can say 
What are its tidings ? have our troops awaked ? 
Or do they still, as if with opium drugged, 
Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave? 
Is India free? and does she wear her plumed 
And jewelled turban with a smile of peace, 
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, 
The popular harangue, the tart reply, 
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ; 
I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, 
And give them voice and utterance once again. 

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 
So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
Not such his evening who, with shining face, 
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeezed 
And bored with elbow-points through both his sides, 
Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage: 
Nor his who patient stands till his feet throb, 
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, 
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
* * * * * 

'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, 
To peep at such a world ; to see the stir 
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; 
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
To some secure and more than mortal height, 
That liberates and exempts me from them all. 



LITERATURE OF TEE AGE OF BURNS. 



O Winter ! ruler of the inverted year, 
I crown thee king of intimate delights. 
Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness, 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturb'd Eetirement, and the hours 
Of long, uninterrupted evening, know. 

Here the needle plies its busy task, 
The pattern grows, the well -depicted flower. 
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, 
Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, 
And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, 
Follow the nimble finger of the fair ; 

* * * * * 
The poet's or historian's page, by one 
Made vocal for the amusement of the rest ; 

The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out 
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, 
And in the charming strife triumphant still, 
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 
On female industry : the threaded steel 
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 

* * * * * 

I would not have a slave to till my ground. 
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. 

***** 
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free. 

* * * -36- * 

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still- 

^ * * 'A 

There is a pleasure in poetic pains 
Which only poets know. 

***** 
Variety 's the very spice of life, 
That gives it all its flavor. 

fttijfr; * * * l * ^liivtxi 

Some seek diversion in the tented field, 
And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. 
N 



194 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



But war's a game, which, were their subjects wise, 
Kings would not play at. 

* * * # 

He is the freeman whom the truth makes free. 

* * * -96 * 

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds. 

From his Letters. 
To the Key. William Unwix. 

Amico Mio : 

Be pleased to buy me a glazier's diamond pencil. I have glazed the 
two panes designed to receive my pine plants ; but I cannot mend the 
kitchen windows till, by the help of that implement, I can reduce the 
glass to its proper dimensions. If I were a plumber, I should be a 
complete glazier ; and possibly the happy time may come when I shall 
be seen trudging away to the neighboring towns with a shelf of glass 
hanging at my back. If government should impose another tax upon 
that commodity, I hardly know a business in which a gentleman might 
more successfully employ himself. A Chinese, of ten times my fortune, 
would avail himself of such an opportunity without scruple ; and why 
should not I, who want money as much as any Mandarin in China ? 
Bousseau would have been charmed to have seen me so occupied, and 
would have exclaimed with rapture, " that he had found the Emilius 
who (he supposed) had subsisted only in his own idea." I would recom- 
mend it to you to follow my example. You will presently qualify your- 
self for the task, and may not only amuse yourself at home, but even 
exercise your skill in mending the church windows ; which, as it would 
save money to the parish, would conduce, together with your other 
ministerial accomplishments, to make you extremely popular in the 
place. 

I have eight pair of tame pigeons. When I first enter the garden in 
the morning, I find them perched upon a wall, waiting for their break- 
fast ; for I feed them always upon the gravel walk. If your wish should 
be accomplished, and you should find yourself furnished with the wings 
of a dove, I shall undoubtedly find you amongst them. Only be so good, 
if that should be the case, to announce yourself by some means or other. 
For I imagine your crop will require something better than tares to 
fill it. 

Your mother and I last week made a trip in a post-chaise to Gay- 
hurst, the seat of Mr. Wright, about four miles off. He understood 
that I did not much affect strange faces, and sent over his servant on 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF BURNS. 195 



purpose to inform me that he was going into Leicestershire, and that 
if I chose to see the gardens, I might gratify myself without danger of 
seeing the proprietor. I accepted the invitation, and was delighted 
with all I found there. The situation is happy, the gardens elegantly 
disposed, the hothouse in the most flourishing state, and the orange-trees 
the most captivating creatures of the kind I ever saw. A man, in short, 
had need have the talents of Cox or Langford, the auctioneers, to do 
the whole scene justice. 

Our love attends you all. 

Yours, 

September 21, 1779. \V. C. 



An Epistle in Rhyme. 
To the Rev. John Newton. 
My very Dear Friend : 
I am going to send, what when you have read, you may scratch your 
head, and say, I suppose, there 's nobody knows, whether what I have 
got be verse or not. 

The news at Oney is little or noney, but such as it is, I send it, viz. : 

Page and his wife, that made such a strife, we met them twain in 
Dog-lane ; we gave them the wall, and that was all. For Mr. Scott, we 
have seen him not, except as he pass'd, in a wonderful haste, to see a 
friend in Silver End. Mrs. Jones proposes, ere July closes, that she 
and her sister, and her Jones mister, and we that are here, our course 
shall steer, to dine in the Spinney ; * but for a guinea, if the weather 
should hold, so hot and so cold, we had better by far, stay where we are. 
For the grass there grows, while nobody mows (which is very wrong), 
so rank and long, that so to speak, 'tis at least a week, if it happens to 
rain, ere it dries again. 

I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in hopes 
to do good ; and if the Reviewer should say, " To be sure, the gentle- 
man's Muse wears Methodist shoes ; you may know by her pace, and 
talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard, for the taste 
and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoidening play, of the modern 
day ; and though she assume a borrowed plume, and here and there 
wear a tittering air, 't is only her plan, to catch if she can, the giddy 
and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a new construction. 

* A grove, belonging to Mrs, Throckmorton, of Weston, and about a mile from 
Olney. 



196 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



She has baited her trap in hopes to snap all that may come, with a 
sugar-plum.'' 

His opinion in this, will not be amiss ; 't is what I intend, my 

principal end ; and if I succeed, and folks should read, till a few are 
brought to a serious thought, I shall think I am paid, for all I have said 
and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as 
far as from hence, to the end of my sense, and by hook or crook, write 
another book, if I live and am here another year. I have heard before, 
of a room with a floor, laid upon springs, and such-like things, with so 
much art, in every part, that when you went in, you were forced to begin 
a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, how in and 
now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string, 
or any such thing ; and now I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will 
make you dance, and as you advance, will keep you still, though against 
your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what 
I have penn'd ; which that you may do, ere madam and you are quite 
worn out wdth jigging about, I take my leave, and here you receive a 
bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me,* W. C. 

July 12, 1781. 

OO^CK 

Syllabus. 

The eighteenth century may be divided into three periods, represented by 
Pope, Johnson, and Burns. 

Burns, by his spontaneous song, inaugurated a new order of poetry — the 
natural school. In his intense love of nature, he resembled Chaucer. 
Poetry was his highest enjoyment, but he stooped to lower pleasures, and 
poverty helped to enchain him. He died in his thirty-seventh year. 

Cowper, like Burns, was the poet of nature. In character no greater 
contrast could* be given. Cowper was fond of quiet scenes and quiet life, 
and was refined in every sentiment and expression. His letters, unlike 
those of Burns, are the happiest illustrations of the use of good English. 
Cowper died in 1800. 

* Cowper, in one of his letters, complained to Mr. Newton of the wanderings of his 
mind ; his friend acknowledged a similar weakness. " Yes," replied the poet ; " but 
you have always a serious thought standing at the door, like a justice of the peace, 
with the riot-act in his hand, ready to disperse the mob." 



SCOTT. 



CHAPTER XI. 

— OO^OO 

The Age of Scott and Byron. 

1800—1832. 

POLITICAL and social revolutions marked the close of the 
last century, and awakened a spirit of progress perceptibly 
felt in the dawning of the nineteenth century. Many errors 
and old forms of abuses still existed, however, destined to give 
way under the benign influence of the earnest writers of the 
day. Napoleon Bonaparte, from his first Consulship in 1799, 
had been the one central figure engaging the attention of the 
world. His triumphs ended at Waterloo, and from that time, 
1815, England was left secure in her ancient prowess. 

George III. died in 1820, after a reign of sixty years. During 
the last ten years of his life he was hopelessly insane, and his 
son, afterwards George IV., acted as regent. This prince was 
as dissolute in his habits, and as regardless of the dignity of his 
trust, as Charles II. It was with great apprehension that his 
subjects saw him crowned king of England. 

The literature of the nineteenth century greets us with the 
freshness and spontaneity of earnest conviction. Burns and 
Cowper had brought poetry back to nature, and last, but not 
least, the influence of the old Ballad literature collected by Dr. 
Percy, and known to all lovers of literature as "Percy's 
Reliques," had given a wide-spread taste for simple, spontane- 
ous poetry. These ballads, the expression of earnest, genuine 
sentiment, though rude in structure, aided the nineteenth cen- 
17 * 197 



198 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



tury in the conviction that spontaneity, rather than decorum, 
was the essential of poetry.* 

On no one of the nineteenth century poets did Percy's Rel- 
iques exercise more, or probably so much, influence as upon 
the boy Walter Scott (1771-1832), who, as he lay on the 
banks of the Tweed, used to read those old legendary poems, 
which filled his young imagination with ruined castles and 
abbeys, knights and fair ladies, no less than with notions of 
honor and loyalty. Thus, living in the realm of imagination, 
and in ages long past, the great revolutions in which he was 
actually living and moving had comparatively little effect upon 
him. Loving, as he did, the chivalry of past ages and aristoc- 
racy of all times, and honoring the traditional glory of kings, 
the "levelling doctrines" of the French Revolution were es- 
pecially odious to him. He would have made a stout Jacobite 
in the days of Jacobitism. Yet, partial as he was to kings, we 
find him just when he describes actual party strifes. 

He was born in Edinburgh in 1771. His family belonged to 
the border clan of Scott, whose chieftain was the Duke of Buc- 
cleugh. Being a delicate child, he was sent to the country, 
and, roaming the fields on his grandfather's farm near Kelso, 
on the Tweed, he found books in nature more essential to his 
after-work than all his subsequent training at Edinburgh. He 
never made much proficiency in the classics, and left the Uni- 
versity without taking a degree. He studied law under his 
father, but soon left it for literature. 

His first publication was The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
a collection similar to Percy's, with many original ballads. 
His next publication, 1805, was, The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
Marmion, The Lady of the Lake, The Vision of Don Boderick, 
Bokeby, The Bridal of Triermain, The Lord of the Isles, and 
Harold the Dauntless followed in rapid succession. 

At this time Byron was becoming famous, and Scott, believ- 
ing him to be a more powerful singer than himself, at once 



* It is difficult to divide the nineteenth century writers according to periods, as, 
for instance, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey had all of them distinguished 
themselves somewhat before 1800, but became more prominent in the world of let- 
ters later— after the death of Byron, Shelley, and Keats, who, all three, died before 
1825. Wordsworth lived until 1850. 



THE AGE OF SCOTT AXD BYRON. 



199 



turned his own active mind and pen into another channel, and 
produced in rapid succession his unequalled novels. ]Sme years 
before he had sketched the story of Waverley, which now be- 
came the initial number of that series which has delighted the 
world under the title of The Waverley Novels. They were 
anonymously published, and the author was called the " Great 
Unknown," "The Wizard of the Korth," etc. Following 
Waverley, came in rapid succession Guy Mannering, The Anti- 
quary, The Black Dwarf, Old Mortality, Heart of Midlothian, 
etc., etc., about thirty in number. They are mainly historical 
novels, and give very nearly a correct picture of the times they 
represent. The Monastery and The Abbot are concerning Mary 
Queen of Scots ; Kenilworth gives a fair picture of Elizabeth's 
times ; The Fortunes of Nigel gives the reign of James I. ; Wood- 
stock, the Civil "War and the Commonwealth ; Pereril of the Peak, 
the reign of Charles II. ; Waverley, the period of the Pretend- 
er's attempt to secure the throne in 1745 ; while Iranhoe, The 
Talisman, and Count Robert of Paris are concerning the Cru- 
saders. 

With Scott's regard for aristocracy and heraldic honors, it is 
not astonishing that his great ambition was to possess a large 
landed estate and a title. The first he procured in 1811. No 
associations in Scotland were more pleasing to him than those 
in which he formed his first conceptions of ancient glory, and 
peopled his busy fancy with knights and dwarfs of times gone 
by. So on the banks of his favorite Tweed, near the ruins of 
Melrose Abbey, he purchased his estate, and gave it the name 
of Abbotsford. Here his happy family sprang up around him, 
and here in 1820 he received from George IV. the coveted title 
of baronet. Xo greater instance of pecuniary success was ever 
recorded than that of Scott's, and no greater instance of pecu- 
niary failure. The great publishing firm of Ballantyne & Co., 
in which Scott had a heavy interest, failed, involving Scott to 
the amount of more than a hundred thousand pounds.* 



* Except Milton's self-imposed labor and sacrifice, no grander example in the 
history of literature can be found than that of Scott as we now see him —risen 
almost to the summit of his worldly ambition, and suddenly dashed to the lowest 
earth, — not to grovel in despair, but to summon all the courage of a great heart to 
begin again the toilsome journey. " It is very hard," he said, u thus to lose all the 
labor of a lifetime, and be aade a poor man at last, when I ought to have been other- 



200 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Without a word of weak and vain repining, he left his splen- 
did home at Abbotsford. and securing a humble abode in Edin- 
burgh, shut himself up from the genial world he loved, to labor 
with his tireless pen until the heavy debt of half a million dol- 
lars should be paid off. Woodstock was the first-fruit of this pe- 
riod of his history. Story, biography, and history followed, until 
at last, just as the goal was nearly reached, the pen dropped 
from his nerveless fingers. He was prevailed upon to take a 
foreign tour, and he resided for several months in Xaples. He 
was taken to his beloved Abbotsford to die. " He desired," 
says his son-in-law and biographer, Lockhart, u to be wheeled 
through his rooms, and we moved him leisurely for an hour or 
more up and down the hall and the great library. 4 1 have seen 
much,' he kept saying, 1 but nothing like my ain house : give 
me one turn more.' " He died on the 21st of September, 1832, 
and was buried in Dryburgh Abbey. 

The trio of poets. Bykox. Shelley, and Keats, were asso- 
ciated in life, but had few points of resemblance in character. 
The poetry of each has a striking individuality. Byron is 
chaotic, impassioned, full of sublime energy. He is more at 
home in storms and warring elements than in quiet, peaceful 
scenes. His life was one series of revolt, and his poems reflect 
his life. Shelley, a higher, more spiritual poet, represents 
all that is rarest and most exquisite in the realms of the imagi- 
nation. He is the Ariel of poets. His own Skylark, soaring 
"higher still and higher," best embodies his own spiritual ele- 
vation. Keats, who gave promise of the greatest possibilities 
had life been spared him, was more purely sensuous in his luxuri- 
ous imagination. While with Shelley the reader is lifted into 
the realms of ideality, where there is spiritual perception only, 
with Keats the perception of the spiritual is through the senses 
mainly, or as if the senses were taken captive by the intellect 
and made to contribute to the intellectual pleasure. 

The diversity of these three poets makes it of interest to 
study them together, united as they were by the ties of friend- 
ship. 

G-eouge Gordon Byrox (1788-1824) was born in London. 



wise; but if God drives me health and strength for a few years longer. I have no 
doubt that I shall redeem it all.'* 



THE AGE OF SCOTT AND BYRON. 



201 



A sensitive, passionate, wayward, generous child, what he 
might have been if his early training had been different, it is 
idle to conjecture. His father was a worthless, dissipated 
spendthrift, and his mother, with a temper uncontrolled, — 
passionate in love or anger, — would sometimes heap endear- 
ments upon her little lame boy, and at other times would call 
him a "lame brat," and in her rage throw at his head what- 
ever missile came nearest to her hand. What wonder, with 
such an infancy, his whole life should be turbulent.* 

In his eleventh year a grand-uncle died, and left George Gor- 
don Byron heir to his title and estates, with the grand old 
baronial residence of Newstead Abbey. t With a new future 
opened to him, he was sent to Harrow School to prepare for 
Cambridge. After two years spent at Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge, he published a collection of his poems, entitled Hours 
of Idleness. These were harshly criticised in the Edinburgh 
Review, and from that event dates Byron's entrance into the 
field of literature. To this criticism he replied in a powerful 
satire, called English Bards and Scotch Beviewers. All the rage, 
hatred, and animosity of his bitter nature were here expressed. 
None of his brother poets — the English bards — but received the 
lash of his satire, whether they were friends or foes. But the 
Scottish reviewers were the especial objects of his invective and 
scorn. 

Soon after the publication of this satire, Byron took his seat 
in the House of Lords. He did not remain long in Parliament, 
but went travelling on the Continent. The classic lands of 
Greece invited his wandering footsteps. Here he recalled all 
her ancient grandeur as he bewailed her fallen state : 

"'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start, — for soul is wanting there. 
Hers is the loveliness of death, 
That parts not quite with parting breath, 

* Deserted by her husband, who had squandered all her fortune, the unhappy 
mother of Byron went with her child back to her native country, Scotland, and there 
in Aberdeenshire placed the boy at a village school. 

f It is told that when his name was called at school with the title for the first time 
prefixed, he was so overcome he could not answer the customary adsum, but after a 
painful silence burst into tears. 



202 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
That hue which haunts it to the tomb." 

Then bursting from these strains of pity, he changes into 
grander notes of patriotism : 

"Clime of the unforgotten brave! 
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 
Was freedom's home or glory's grave ! 
Shrine of the mighty ! Can it be 
That this is all remains of thee ? 

Approach, thou craven, crouching slave, 

Say, is not this Thermopylae? 
These waters blue that round you lave, 

Oh, servile offspring of the free, 
Pronounce, what sea, what shore is this ? 
The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! " 

After two years' absence, he returned with two cantos of 
Childe Harold completed. These were published in 1812, and 
were received with such rapturous applause that he instantly 
became the popular poet of the day and the lion of London 
society. As he briefly expressed it in his diary, " I awoke one 
morning and found myself famous." Between 1813 and 1816 
he wrote The Giaour, The Bride of Abydos, The Corsair. Lara, 
The Siege of Corinth, and Parisina. 

Byron married a Miss Milbanke, from whom he separated in 
a year's time. They had one child— Augusta Ada. Again 
Byron quitted his native shores, and these are some of his sad 
and bitter feelings : 

" And now I'm in the world alone, 

Upon the wide, wide sea ; 
But why should I for others groan, 

When none will sigh for me? 

* * * * 

With thee, my bark, I '11 swiftly go 

Athwart the foaming brine; 
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, 

So not again to mine." 

He went to Flanders, then along the Khine to Switzerland, 
and, imbibing on his journey all the grandeur of that scenery, 



THE AGE OF SCOTT AXD BYRON. 



203 



he produced the next year, while still in Switzerland, the third 
canto of Childe Harold, also The Prisoner of Chilian, Darkness, 
The Dream." and a portion of Manf red. 

After a year spent in Switzerland he went to Italy, and there 
fell into every vice and excess. Here he wrote Mazeppa, parts 
of Don Juan, and the tragedies of Marino Fediero, Sardanapalus, 
The Tico Foscari, Werner, Cain. 

In 1823 he enlisted, with all the vigor of his wasted life, in 
the cause of the Greeks, who were striving to throw off the 
Turkish yoke. He arrived at Missolonghi in January, 1824, 
prepared to give to the oppressed nation what aid his fortune 
and influence might wield, but was seized with a fever, and 
died in April, 1824, like Burns, in his thirty-seventh year. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) was bom at Field 
Place, near Horsham, in Sussex. Misguided in his youth by 
an unprincipled father ; expelled from Oxford for his boyish 
challenge to the discussion of atheism : prohibited by his father 
from returning home on account of his supposed atheism, all 
combined to chill his sensitive nature, and blind him to the 
essential characteristics of religion. Shelley's chief works are 
Queen Mob, Alastor. or The Spirit of Solitude, The Revolt of Morn. 
Helleis, The Witch of Atlas, Epipsychidion, and Rosalind and Helen. 
These are all invectives against religion and social institu- 
tions. Shelley also wrote two important dramas, Prometheus 
Unbound f and The Cenci. The latter is founded on the parri- 
cidal crime of the beautiful Beatrice Cenci. Shelley is best 
known by his shorter poems, especially The Skylark, The Cloud. 
and The Sensitive Plant. His poem of Adonais is a lament for 
the early death of Keats. 

Of the life of John Keats (1790-1821) there is little to be 
told. He was born in London, early began to write poetry, 



* The Dream is an embodiment of one passage of his early life— his ardent, unre- 
ciprocated love for Mary Chaworth. If that dream i! might have been " realized, it 
seems, indeed, as if the restless, self-tortured soul might have found life worth living. 

f "Prometheus bound to the rock represents Humanity suffering under the reign 
of Evil impersonated in Jupiter. Asia, at the beginning of the drama, separated 
from Prometheus, is the all-pervading love, which in loving makes the universe of 
nature. The time comes when Evil is overthrown. Prometheus is then delivered 
and united to Asia, that is, Man is wedded to the spirit of Nature, and Good is all in 
all. The fourth act is the choral song of the regenerate universe." 



204 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



and published Endymion, his longest poem, in 1818. It was 
severely criticised by the Quarterly Revieiv, and Keats, unlike 
Byron, could only suffer for, not oppose, the ill opinion of the 
critics. He passed into a decline, from which he never rallied. 
To recover his health he travelled to Italy, but died in Rome in 
1821, in the twenty-fourth year of his age. Besides his chief 
poem, Endymion, he wrote Lamia, Isabella^ The Eve of St. Agnes, 
and Hyperion. 

Thomas Moore (1779-1852), the Irish song-writer, was es- 
sentially a lyric poet, and his songs are well termed Melodies. 
His principal poem is Lalla Rookh* which consists of four sep- 
arate poems, The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan, Paradise and the 
Peri, The Fire-Worshippers, and The Light of the Harem. 

The Scotch poets of this early part of the nineteenth century 
are especially worthy of notice. Robert Tannahill, James 
Hogg, the "Ettrick Shepherd," Allan Cunningham, Wil- 
liam Motherwell, all belong to the u full-throated " min- 
strelsy of Scotland, and in some of their productions are not 
inferior to Burns himself. 

Prose Writers and Periodical Literature. 

The middle and latter part of the eighteenth century had 
produced two or three critical reviews and several magazines, 
which held their place in literature until the beginning of the 
nineteenth century, when another critical review sprang into 
existence, which cast the others wholly in the shade. This was 
the Edinburgh Review, whose establishment marked an era not 
only in periodical literature and criticism, but in the history of 
human progress. It originated in 1802, among a knot of young 
men assembled in the humble rooms of one who was afterwards 



* Lalla Rookh (Tulip Cheek) is the beautiful daughter of the Emperor Aurengzebi, 
who reigned at Delhi, India. She has been betrothed to a prince whom she has never 
seen, and when the poem opens, is just setting out on her journey to Cashmere, where 
the marriage is to be solemnized. A suitable retinue is in attendance, and on the 
way a minstrel, or poet, joins the company, who beguiles the tedium of the journey 
by reciting, in hearing of the princess, the four stories or poems just named. On 
arriving at their journey's end the poet discovers himself to her as the prince whom 
she is to marry. Of this poem Hazlitt said, " If Lalla Rookh be not a great poem, it 
is a marvellous work of art, and contains paintings of local scenery and manners 
unsurpassed for fidelity and picturesque effect. The poet was a diligent student, and 
his oriental reading was as good as riding on the back of a camel." 



THE AGE OF SCOTT AXD BYE OX. 



205 



to take the chief part in conducting the Review. This was 
Feaxcis Jeffrey, who had just been admitted to the Scotch 
bar, and had, even at this early date, displayed great ability 
as an advocate. This coterie of youthful critics consisted of 
Sydney Smith, Francis Jeffrey. Dr. Thomas Brown, Lord Mur- 
ray, Dr. John Thomson, Francis Horner, and Lord Brougham.* 

Sydney Smith (1771-1845), to whom is attributed the first 
suggestion of the Review, thus describes the inception of the 
scheme. He, then a young curate, had set out with a friend 
for the University of Weimar, but German}* becoming the seat 
of war, c< In stress of politics," he says, 

M We put into Edinburgh, where I remained five years. The princi- 
ples of the French Be volution were then fully afloat, and it is impossible 
to conceive a more violent and agitated state of society. Among the 
first persons with whom I became acquainted were Lord Jeffrey, Lord 
Murray | late Lord Advocate for Scotland), and Lord Brougham ; all of 
them maintaining opinions upon political subjects a little too liberal for 
the dynasty of Dundas, then exercising supreme power over the northern 
division of the island. 

" One day we happened to meet in the eighth or ninth story f or flat 
in Buccleugh Place, the elevated residence of the then Mr. Jeffrey. I 
proposed that we should set up a Review ; this was acceded to with ac- 
clamation. I was appointed editor, and remained long enough in Edin- 
burgh to edit the first number of the Edinburgh Eevieu: The motto I 
proposed for the Review was, 

'Tenui musam meditamur avendJ 
•We cultivate literature upon a little oatmeal.' 

But this was too near the truth to be admitted, and so we took our pres- 
ent grave motto J from Publius Syrus, of whom none of us had, I am 
sure, ever read a single line, and so began what has since turned out to 
be a very important and* able journal. When I left Edinburgh, it fell 
into the stronger hands of Lord Jeffrey and Lord Brougham, and reached 
the highest point of popularity and success. I contributed from Eng- 
land many articles, which I have been foolish enough to collect and pub- 
lish with some other tracts written by me. 

* The latter but twenty-five years of age, and then simply Henry Brougham. 

tThe houses in the part of Edinburgh called the old town were some of them 
built ten and eleven stories high. 

% Judex damnatur, cum nockns absolvitur, — The judge is condemned when the 
guilty is acquitted. 

18 



206 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



"To appreciate the value of the Edinburgh Review, the state of 
England at the period when that journal began should be had in re- 
membrance. The Catholics were not emancipated, the Corporation and 
Test Acts were unrepealed, the game laws were horribly oppressive, steel 
traps and spring guns were set all over the country, prisoners tried for 
their lives could have no counsel, Lord Eldon and the Court of Chan- 
cery pressed heavily upon mankind, libel was punished by the most cruel 
and vindictive imprisonments, the principles of political economy were 
little understood, the law of debt and of conspiracy was upon the worst 
possible footing, the enormous wickedness of the slave-trade was toler- 
ated — a thousand evils were in existence which the talents of good and 
able men have since lessened or removed ; and these effects have been 
not a little assisted by the Edinburgh Review." 

Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) was the leading spirit of the 
enterprise, and after the first two numbers, which were edited 
by Sydney Smith, he edited the Keview for nearly twenty-seven 
years. This Review became the powerful organ of the Whig 
party, and the repository of the products of the best minds of 
the time. But its literary censorship, severe, because unripe, 
caused bitterness of feeling to many young literary aspirants. 
Poor Byron could ill brook its treatment of his first published 
work, Hours of Idleness, and he turned with venom upon all Eng- 
lish bards and Scotch Reviewers. With riper years Jeffrey became 
more mellow in his criticisms. He, the leader of critics, learned 
that the province of criticism was wide ; and, as from year to 
year the varied productions of gifted minds came under his crit- 
ical examination, he could not but be conscious of receiving ben- 
efits which deepened and broadened his own narrower vision. 

So great was the influence of the Edinburgh Review in dis- 
seminating Whig principles, that in 1809, at the instigation of 
Sir Walter Scott and others, the London Quarterly Beview was 
established, to counteract the Whig influence and to represent 
the Tory or ministerial party. The editorship was undertaken 
by William Gifford (1757-1826). 

In 1824 the Radical party established the Westminster Beview, 
under the editorship of Jeremy Bentham, a scholarly recluse, 
singular in his modes of living and original in his modes of 
thinking.* 



* He based his principles of legislation on "the greatest happiness to the greatest 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF SCOTT AXD BYROX. 207 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Age of Seott 
and Byron, 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

From The Lay of the Last Mixstrel. 

Introduction. 

The way was long, the wind was cold. 

The minstrel was infirm and old; 

His withered cheek and tresses gray 

Seemed to have known a better day; 

The harp, his sole remaining joy, 

Was carried by an orphan boy. 

The last of all the bards was he 

Who sung of Border chivalry ; 

For, well-a-day ! their date was fled ; 

His tuneful brethren all were dead; 

And he, neglected and oppressed, 

Wished to be with them, and at rest. 

No more on prancing palfry borne, 

He carolled, light as lark at morn ; 

No longer courted and care.-sed, 

High placed in hall a welcome guest, 

He poured to lord and lady gay 

The unpremeditated lay : 

Old times were changed, old manners gone; 

A stranger filled the Stuart's throne ; 

The bigots of the iron time 

Had called his harmless art a crime. 

A wandering harper, scorned and poor, 

He begged his bread from door to door, 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 

The harp a king had loved to hear. 

* * * * * 

If thou would' st view fair Melrose aright, 

Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 

For the gay beams of lightsome day 

Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 

number." " Priestley," says he, " was the first who taught ray lips to pronounce this 
sacred truth. In this phrase I saw delineated, for the first time, a plain as well as a 
true standard for whatever is right or wrong, useful, useless, or mischievous in hu- 
man conduct, whether in the field of morals or of politics." 



208 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



When the broken arches are black in night, 

And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 

When the cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruined central tower; 

When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 

When silver edges the imagery, 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; 

When distant Tweed is heard to rave, 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 

Then go — but go alone the while — 

Then view St. David's ruined pile; 

And, home returning, sooth ly swear, 

Was never scene so sad and fair!— Canto IL, Stanza 1. 

x # # * * # 

Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 

Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land ! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
If such there breathe, go mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.— Canto VL, Stanza 1. 

From The Monastery. 

It was about this period that the " only rare poet of his time, the 
witty, comical, facetiously-quick, and quickly-facetious John Lyly, — 
he that sat at Apollo's table, and to whom Phoebus gave a wreath of his 
own bays without snatching " * — he, in short, who wrote that singularly 
coxcombical work called " Euphues and his England," was in the very 
zenith of his absurdity and reputation. The quaint, forced, and unnat- 
ural style which he introduced by his "Anatomy of Wit," had a fashion 



* Blount, editor of Lyly's Works. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF SCOTT AND BYRON. 209 



as rapid as it was momentary. All the court ladies were his scholars, 
and to parler Euphuisme was as necessary a qualification to a courtly 
gallant, as those of understanding how to use his rapier or to dance a 
measure. * * * * * * 

" Credit me, fairest lady," said the knight, " that such is the cunning 
of our English courtiers of the hodiernal strain, that, as they have infi- 
nitely refined upon the plain and rustical discourse of our fathers, which, 
as I may say, more beseemed the mouths of country roysterers in a May- 
game than that of courtly gallants in a galliard, so I hold it ineffably 
and unutterably impossible, that those who may succeed us in this gar- 
den of wit and courtesy shall alter or amend it. Venus delighted but 
in the language of Mercury, Bucephalus will stoop to no one but Alex- 
ander, none can sound Apollo's pipe but Orpheus." 

" Valiant sir," said Mary, who could scarcely help laughing, " we 
have but to rejoice in the chance which hath honored this solitude with 
a glimpse of the sun of courtesy, though it rather blinds than enlightens 
us." 

" Pretty and quaint, fairest lady," answered the Euphuist. " Ah ! 
that I had with me my Anatomy of Wit — that all-to-be-unparalleled 
volume— the quintessence of human wit — that treasury of quaint inven- 
tion—that exquisitely-pleasant-to-read and inevitably-necessary-to-be- 
remembered manual of all that is worthy to be known — which indoc- 
trines the rude in civility, the dull in intellectuality, the heavy in 
jocosity, the blunt in gentility, the vulgar in nobility, and all of them 
in that unutterable perfection of human utterance, that eloquence which 
no other eloquence is sufficient to praise, the art which, when we call it 
by its own name of Euphuism, we bestow upon it its richest panegyric." 

" Marvellous fine words," said dame Glendinning. " Marvellous fine 
words, neighbor Happer, are they not?" 

" Trust me," said the knight, again turning to Mary Avenel, " if I do 
not pity you, lady, who, being of noble blood, are thus in a manner com- 
pelled to abide in the cottage of the ignorant, like the precious stone in 
the head of a toad, or like a precious garland on the brow of an ass." 

" Credit me, fair lady," said Sir Piercie Shafton, addressing Mary 
Avenel, " it much rejoiceth me, being as I am a banished man from the 
delights of my own country, that I shall find here, in this obscure and 
sylvan cottage of the north, a fair form and a candid soul, with whom I 
may explain my mutual sentiments. And let me pray you in particular, 
lovely lady, that, according to the universal custom now predominant in 
our court, the garden of superior wits, you will exchange with me some 
epithet whereby you may mark my devotion to your service. Be hence- 
18* O 



210 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



forth named, for example, my Protection, and let me be your Afiabil- 
ity." 

" Our northern and country manners, Sir Knight, do not permit us to 
exchange epithets with those to whom we are strangers," replied Mary 
Avenel. 

" Nay, but see now," said the knight, " how you are startled ! even as 
the unbroken steed which swerves aside from the shaking of a handker- 
chief, though he must, in time, encounter the waving of a pennon. This 
courtly exchange of epithets of honor is no more than the compliments 
which pass between Valor and Beauty, wherever they meet, and under 
whatever circumstances. Elizabeth of England herself calls Philip 
Sidney her Courage, and he in return calls that princess his Inspira- 
tion." 

LORD BYRON. 

From Childe Harold. 

There was a sound of revelry by night ; 

And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage bell— 
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. 

Canto III., Stanza 21. 

ft*-'**** 
The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh, night, 

And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 

Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 

Leaps the live thunder ! not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 

And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 

Canto III., Stanza 92. 

* * * * * 

The Niobe of Nations !* there she stands 

Childless and crownless, in her voiceless wo, 

* Rome. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF SCOTT AND BYRON. 211 



An empty urn within her withered hands, 

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago ; 
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; 

The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow, 
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? 
Kise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 

Canto IV, Stanza 79. 

■A" * * * * * 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 

Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan — 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. 

Canto IV., Stanza 179. 

From Lines to his Wife after their Separation. 

Fare thee well ! and if for ever, 

Still for ever, fare thee well : 
Even though unforgiving, never 

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. 
Would that breast were bared before thee 

Where thy head so oft hath lain, 
While that placid sleep came o'er thee, 

Which thou ne'er canst know again. 
Would that breast, by thee glanced over, 

Every inmost thought could show, 
Then thou wouldst at last discover 

'T was not well to spurn it so. 

To Ada. 

My daughter ! with thy name this song begun, 

My daughter ! with thy name this much shall end — 

I see thee not, — I hear thee not, — but none 
Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend 
To whom the shadows of far years extend : 

Albeit my brow thou never should' st behold, 
My voice shall with thy future visions blend, 



212 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITER A TURK 



And reach into thy heart, — when mine is cold, 
A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould. 

To aid thy mind's development, — to watch 

Thy dawn of little joys, — to sit and see 
Almost thy very growth — to view thee catch 

Knowledge of objects, — wonders yet to thee ! 

To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, 
And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss, 

This, it should seem, was not reserved for me : 
Yet this was in my nature : — as it is, 
I know not what is there, yet something like to this. 

SHELLEY. 

From the Ode to a Skylakk. 

Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it, 

Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still, and higher, 

From the earth thou springest 

Like a cloud of fire ; 

The blue deep thou wingest, 

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever, singest. 

* * •* * * ■* # 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not ; 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught : 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate, and pride, and fear; 
If we were things born 

Not to shed a tear. 
I know not how thy joy we ever could come near. 

Better than all measures 

Of delight and sound, 
Better than all treasures 

That in books are found. 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 



LITERATURE OF ^BE A GE OF SCOTT AND BYRON, 213 



Teach me half the gladness 
That thy brain must know, 

Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow, 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 

From The Sensitive Plant. 

A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, 
And the young winds fed it with silver dew, 
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
And closed them beneath the kisses of night. 

And the spring arose on the garden fair, 
Like the spirit of love felt everywhere ; 
And each flower and herb on earth's dark breast 
Hose from the dreams of its wintry rest. 

But none ever trembled and panted with bliss 
In the garden, the field, or the wilderness, 
Like a doe in the noontide with love's sweet want, 
As the companion less Sensitive Plant. 

The snow-drop, and then the violet, 
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet, 
And their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent 
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument. 

Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, 
And narcissi, the fairest among them all, 
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess, 
Till they die of their own dear loveliness ; 

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, 
Whom youth makes so fair, and passion so pale, 
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen 
Through their pavilions of tender green; 

And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue, 
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew 
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense, 
It was felt like an odor within the sense. 



214 Eismnr or exgltsh literature. 



KEATS 

From Hyperion. 

[Saturn and Thea.j 

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale. 

Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn. 

Far from the fiery noon and eve's one star. 

Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet a? a stone. 

Still a- the silence round about his lair: 

Forest on forest hung about his head 

Like cloud on cloud, No stir of air was there. 

Not so much life as on a summer's day 

Robs one light seed from the feathered grass, 

But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. 

A stream went voiceless by. still deadened nt-re 

By reason of his fallen divinity 

Spreading a shade : the Naiad "mid her reeds 

Pressed her cold finger closer to her lips. 

Along the margin sand large i : : : marks went 
No further than to where his feet had strayed. 
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground 
His old ri^ht hand lay nerveless, listless, dead. 
Unsceptred ; and his real ml ess eyes were closed ; 
While his bowed head seemed listening to the earth, 
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. 

It seemed no force could wake him from his place 
But there came one. who with a kindred hand 
Touched his wide shoulders, after :: ending low 
With reverence, though to one who knew it not. 
She was a goddess of the infant world : 
By her in stature the tall Amazon 
Ha :1 stood a pigmy* s height: she w:uld nave ta'en 
Achilles by the hair, and bent his neck; 
Or with a linger stayed Ixion's wheel. 
He: face was large as that af Memphiau sphinx. 
Pedestalled haply in a palace court. 
When sages lacked Egypt far their lore. 

From Ode to a Nightingale. 

My hear; aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF SCOTT AND BYRON. 215 



Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute passed, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 
'T is not through envy of thy happy lot 
But being too happy in thy happiness, 

That thou, light -winged Dryad of the trees, 
In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless. 
Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 

From Address to Autumn. 

Season of mists and mellow fruitf illness, 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun, 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; 
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 

With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease, 

For summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 

From Endymion. 

A thing of beauty is a joy forever ; 
Its loveliness increases ; it will never 
Pass into nothingness. 

Sonnet. 

[On First Looking into Chapman's Homer.] 

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, 
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
Eound many western islands have I been 

Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 

That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne: 
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : 
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
W T hen a new planet swims into his ken; 



216 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 

Looked at each other with a wild surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 

JAMES HOG-Gr — The " Ettrick Shepherd." 

From The Queen's Wake. 

Bonny Kilmeny. 

Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen ; 

But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, 

Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, 

For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 

It was only to hear the yorlin sing, 

And pu' the cress-flower round the spring; 

The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye, 

And the nut that hung frae the hazel-tree; 

For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 

But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', 

And lang may she seek F the greenwood shaw ; 

Lang the laird of Duneira blame, 

And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame ! 

"When many a day had come and fled, 
When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 
When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, 
When the beadsman had prayed, and the dead-bell rung, 
Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still, 
When the fringe was red on the western hill, 
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, 
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain 
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, 
Late, late in the gloamin, Kilmeny came hame ! 

" Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? 
Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean; 
By linn, by ford and greenwood tree, 
Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
Where gat ye that joup o' the lily sheen ? 
That bonny snood of the birk sae green ? 
And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen ? 
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?" 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF SCOTT AND BYRON. 



Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, 
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny' s face ; 
As still was her look, and as still was her ee, 
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, 
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, 
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare; 
Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew, 
But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, 
And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, 
And she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, 
And a land where sin had never been. 

From The Skylark. 

Bird of the wilderness, 

Blithesome and cumberless, 
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
O to abide in the desert with thee ! 

Wild is thy lay and loud, 

Far in the downy cloud, 
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth, 

Where, on thy dewy wing, 

Where art thou journeying? 
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 

O'er fell and fountain sheen, 

O'er moor and mountain green, 
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 

Over the cloudlet dim, 

Over the rainbow's rim, 
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! 

Then, when the gloaming comes. 

Low in the heather blooms, 
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
O to abide in the desert with thee ! 
19 



218 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



ROBERT TANNAHILL. 

The Braes o' Balquhither. 

Let us go, lassie, go. 

To the braes o' Balquhither, 
Where the blae-berries grow 

'Mang the bonnie Highland heather; 
Where the deer and the roe, 

Lightly bounding together. 
Sport the lang summer day 

On the braes o' Balquhither. 

I will twine thee a bower 

By the clear siller fountain. 
And I '11 cover it o'er 

Wi' the flowers of the mountain; 
I will range through the wilds 

And the deep glens sae drearie, 
And return wi' the spoils 

To the bower o' my dearie. 

When the rude wintry win' 

Idly raves round our dwelling, 
And the roar of the linn 

On the night breeze is swelling:, 
So merrily we '11 sing. 

As the storm rattles o'er us. 
Till the dear shieling ring 

Wi s the light lilting chorus. 

Now the summer's in prime 

Wi J the flowers richly blooming, 
And the wild mountain thyme 

A' the moorlands perfuming; 
To our dear native scenes 

Let us journey together, 
Where glad innocence reigns 

'Mang the braes o' Balquhither. 



SYLLABUS. 



219 



Syllabus. 



Napoleon Bonaparte was the one central figure in the eyes of the world 
during the first fifteen years of the nineteenth century. George III. died 
in 1820, and was succeeded by George IV. 

The influence of Burns, Cowper, and of Percy's Eeliques was felt in the 
literature of the early part of the nineteenth century. Sir Walter Scott 
was especially influenced by Percy's Eeliques. Scott's fame rests upon his 
novels. His princely residence was at Abbotsford. Involved in a great 
financial failure, he wrote unceasingly until the enormous debt was paid. 
He died in 1832. 

The trio of poets, Byron, Shelley, and Keats, were intimate friends. The 
poetry of each is strikingly individual, Byron's grand and impetuous, 
Shelly's dealing with the ideal, and Keat's luxuriant, with the refined 
enjoyment of the senses. The Scotch poets of the time, the M Ettrick Shep- 
herd" and others, were important. 

The Edinburgh Review, devoted to the interests of the Whig party, was 
established in 1802 by Sydney Smith, Francis Jeffrey, and others. The 
London Quarterly Review was established by the Tory party in 1809. The 
Westminster Review by the Eadicals in 1824- 




WORDSWORTH, 



CHAPTER XII. 
The Lake Poets. 

wordsworth, coleridge, and 

SOUTHEY. 
1832—1850. 

GEOBGrE IV. died in 1830, and was succeeded by his 
brother, William IV. During his short reign of seven 
years, important measures of government were begun. In 
1832 the great Eeform in Parliament was carried by King and 
Commons against the Lords. The next year slavery was abol- 
ished throughout the British Colonies, and in the same year 
the first public grant was made in behalf of public schools. 
In England, America, and France, the spirit of universal free- 
dom was awakened. 

Among the most ardent upholders of the French Be volution 
in its earlier stages were the three young poets Wordsworth, 
Coleridge, and Sotjthey. Without tracing the devious path 
which led to the final overthrow of all their political and relig- 
ious convictions, it may be briefly stated that the three, start- 
ing in life as the most ultra radicals in politics and religion, 
ended their lives as the upholders of kings and supporters of 
the Church of England. They were the poets of humanity, 
and, following Burns and Cowper in the natural school of 
poetic art, insisted on a still wider deviation from the artificial 
school. 

220 



THE LAKE POETS. 



221 



Attracted by the beautiful scenery of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, one after the other of these poets took up his 
residence among the lakes of north-western England, and from 
this fact they have always been known as the "Lake Poets." 

William Wordsworth (1770-1850), the chief of this school 
of poets, was born in Cumberland. He received his education 
at Cambridge, travelled on the Continent, and was in France 
at the beginning of the Revolution of 1791. Returning to 
England, he devoted his time to literary pursuits, and ap- 
peared as a poet in 1793. Soon after he met Coleridge, and 
the two became life-long friends. In 1797 their joint produc- 
tion of Lyrical Ballads was published.* 

To bring the art of poetry back to nature, Wordsworth con- 
tended that the ordinary topics of daily life were fit subjects 
for poetry, and that the language should be that "really used 
by men." For this deviation from all preconceived Ideas of 
propriety in poetic diction, he received showers of ridicule and 
censure; yet, undismayed, he held on his course, and, after 
fifty years of patient waiting, was recognized as the first poet 
of his age. There are golden veins of poetry running through- 
out everything he has written, gleaming here and there in gen- 
uine colors, then again obscured, as he meant they should be, 
in the russet of common, every-day expression. In his Ode to 
Immortality there is the grand iEolian melody, the perfection 
of human utterance. t 

In the poet's mind there was a natural order and sequence 
in the arrangement of his poems, typical of the development 
of his spiritual powers. 

The love of nature was with him a passion, and the influence 
of nature on man was a favorite subject. He says : 

- " One impulse from a vernal wood 

May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can." 

None but a poet inspired by the utmost confidence in him- 

* To this Coleridge contributed his Ancient Mariner. 

f This poem Emerson designates as the "high-water mark of English thought of 
the nineteenth century." ' 

19* 



222 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



self would have risked such subjects as Wordsworth chose. 
Yet the sad music of humanity rings in minor tones through 
such poems as The Idiot Boy, notwithstanding the most pro- 
saic and inharmonious lines. The poet is triumphant in pro- 
ducing a vivid picture, and in calling out the truest, kindliest 
sympathy. 

Wordsworth brought back the Sonnet, which, since Milton's 
day, had fallen out of English poetry. 

The domestic life of the poet was unclouded and happy.* 
In 1802 he had married Mary Hutchinson, and till his death, 
in 1850, they lived in the quiet seclusion of Grasmere and Kydal 
Mount. All the lakes and mountains of that district seemed 
a portion of the great poet's existence. 

Wordsworth's principal poems are, The Excursion, Hart- Leap 
Well, Yarrow Unvisited, Visited, and Bevisited, and Laodamia. 
The poems most read are, Ode on Immortality, She was a Phan- 
tom of Delight, We are Seven, Buth, Lucy, etc. Those most ridi- 
culed were, Peter Bell, The Idiot Boy, Alice Fell, The Blind 
Highland Boy, etc. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) was two years 
younger than Wordsworth. With kindred sympathies in liter- 
ary tastes, they were wholly different types of men. Coleridge 
possessed a rare genius, but lacked " the reason firm, the tem- 
perate will." Incompleteness marked all his works, and his 
works were typical of his life. We probably obtain the truest 
estimate of his life and genius from his contemporaries rather 
than from later critics, who see only the fragmentary works 
of a great genius, and deplore the overthrow of a noble mind.f 

Like Dr. Johnson, Coleridge was great in his own day ; be- 
cause, like Dr. Johnson, the charm of his conversation won all 
who heard him. With Coleridge there was the added attrac- 
tion of melodious utterance, genial temper, and the mingling 
of poetic and philosophical argument. To hear him talk was 
in itself an education. It has often been regretted that Cole- 
ridge did not reserve his best thoughts for posterity, instead 



* To his sister Dora, his constant companion, Wordsworth attributes some of the 
best influences of his life, 
f He had become addicted to opium eating, which caused his ruin. 



THE LAKE POETS. 



223 



of lavishing them in the evanescent breath of conversation. 
But so long as he has given to us the perfected poems of The 
Ancient Mariner, Genevieve, The Hymn to Mont Blanc, the trans- 
lation of Schiller's Wallenstein, and the unfinished poem of 
Christabel, we will not covet the unrecorded eloquence which 
charmed his contemporaries. 

Although the two poets harmonized in their general views 
of poetry, Coleridge saw the fallacy of Wordsworth's theory 
concerning the use of ordinary diction in poetry, and argued 
"that philosophers, not clowns, are the authors of the best 
parts of language." The Lyrical Ballads, to which allusion 
has been made, were partly composed by Coleridge, and it 
should also be remembered that Wordsworth suggested and 
wrote some few portions of The Ancient Mariner.* 

In company with Wordsworth, Coleridge went to Germany. 
The spirit of philosophic inquiry which he found here inter- 
ested Coleridge quite as much as the poetry, and these, inter- 
fused with his poetic imaginings, produced those glowing 
conversations for which he was famed. Eeturning from Ger- 
many, Coleridge went to reside at Keswick, in Cumberland, 
near the home of Wordsworth. 

Among the visionary schemes of Coleridge was that of the 
"Pantisocracy," which he, with his friends Southey and Lov- 
ell, had planned. Young and ardent, and inflamed with the 
desire to promote the welfare of mankind, these three enthusi- 
asts anticipated the later Fourierism, and thought to build up 
here in the New World a species of Utopia. They were going 
to settle on the banks of the Susquehanna, and found their 
ideal republic — their Pantisocracy, or all-equal government.] For 
want of means the Pantisocracy was given up. 

When we consider the rare poetic ability displayed in the 
" fragments" which have been left us, we can better conceive 
of the mental stature of Coleridge, and see that, with these 



* Singularly enough, although in their literary partnership Coleridge was to fur- 
nish the supernatural and highly imaginative, and Wordsworth was to give poetic 
significance to the common things of life, it was Wordsworth who suggested the kill- 
ing of the Albatross and the steering of the ship by the ghastly crew. 

f The three young poets— Coleridge, Southey, and Lovell— married three sisters, 
the Misses Fricker. 



224 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



works completed, he would have been by far the greatest poet 
of his age.* 

The prose works of Coleridge are, Lay Sermons, The Bio- 
graphia Liter aria, The Friend, Aids to Reflection, and The Con- 
stitution of the Church and State. These were published be- 
tween the years 1817 and 182*5. His Table Talk and Literary 
Remains were not published until after his death. 

No two characters present greater contrasts than those of 
Coleridge and Southey. The supine indolence of the one is 
met by the untiring industry of the other. Bobert Southey 
(1774-1843) will be longer remembered as a man, perhaps, than 
as a poet. His acquaintance with Coleridge began while both 
were students at Oxford. Both were in sympathy with the 
French Eevolution, the overthrow of tyranny, and the estab- 
lishment of universal liberty. In support of this idea, Southey 
wrote his dramatic poem, WoX Tyler. 

Each of Southey 's long poems represents the national life 
of a people, or the chief incidents in the life of a nation's hero. 
Joan of Arc, a tale of France and England, was the first of his 
long poems. Madoc is the story of a Welsh hero ; The Curse of 
Kehama embodies the Hindoo ideas of religion; Thalabais a tale 
of Arabia ; Roderick, a Spanish and Moorish story. Southey 
had drawn most of his poetic inspirations from Oriental liter- 
ature, and from the Moorish ballads of Spain, f None of these 
long poems of Southey's bear any evidence of his concurrence 
with the simple diction advocated by Wordsworth. It is only 
in his earlier, shorter poems that he chooses humble scenes and 
commonplace language, as in the Battle of Blenheim, Father Wil- 
liam, etc. The Abbot of Aberbrothok contains some lines quite 
similar to those of Coleridge in the Ancient Mariner. Southey's 



* Subject to great bodily suffering, he early resorted to the use of opium as a tem- 
porary relief from pain. But the pain and the habit both increased, until, a wreck 
in body and mind, he died in 1834. The last miserable years of his life were spent 
under the hospitable roof of his friend, Dr. Gilman, of London, while to his brother- 
in-law, the poet Southey, residing at Keswick, he left the care of his family. To 
ignore these painful facts would be to withhold the just meed of praise to his 
generous friends. 

f He had spent some time in Spain, after the failure of the Pantisocratic scheme, 
and soon after his return to England joined his friends at the lakes. His Vision 
of Judgment, published in 1821, was burlesqued by Byron in a poem of the same 
name. 



THE LAKE POETS. 



225 



muse was happier in rhymes than in poetic conception. The 
Cataract of Lodore and The March to Moscow are examples. 
Southey's prose works are now more highly valued than his 
poetry. His biographies are especially admired. These are 
the lives of Nelson, Wesley, Cowper, and Henry KirJce White. 
Besides moral and political essays, he wrote Histories of the 
Peninsular War and of Brazil, and innumerable Letters. The 
literary works of Southey number one hundred and nine 
volumes, but his unceasing labors at length overtaxed his 
strength, and his brain succumbed to the too great pressure.* 

To Thomas Hood (1798-1845) the sad world owes a debt of 
gratitude, not only for making it laugh, but for seeing its actual 
woes and for weeping with those who wept. Charles Lamb 
said jestingly, and as a pun on Hood's name, that he carried 
two faces — one tragic and the other comic. 

Among his poems of unmixed pathos are The Bridge of Sighs, 
Eugene Aram, and The Song of the Shirt. The last was written 
a short time before his death. His life was one of care and 
ill-health, and he was prone to melancholy. His heart, he said, 
"was hung lower than most people's, so he had to laugh to 
keep it up." He died in 1845, and the poor working-women 
of London, for whom he sang the Sang of the Shirt, contributed 
their pittance to erect a monument to his memory. 

His works, published in four volumes, are poems of Wit and 
Humor; Serious Poems; Hood's Own, or Laughter from Year to 
Tear; and Whims and Oddities in Prose and Verse. 

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844), born in Glasgow, Scotland, 
was one of the most polished writers of his age. While his 
poems evince more power than the classic school of writers 
following Pope, they have all the elegance of finish of that 
school combined with musical expression. His short lyrics of 
war have in them the very trumpet-blast. He was a true 
Highlander in spirit, and, like the other poets of his day, was 
zealous in the cause of liberty. Nowhere have finer words of 
indignation against Poland's oppressors been heard than those 
expressed by Campbell. His longest poems are, The Pleasures 



* His second wife, Caroline Anne Southey (1787-1854), was a sister of the poet 
Bowles, and was herself a writer of ability. 

P 



226 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



of Hope and Gertrude of Wyoming. O'Connor's Child, LochieVs 
Warning, Lord TJlliiVs Daughter, the Exile of Erin, and the 
Soldier's Dream are among his best-known poems. His stirring 
martial and patriotic songs are the Battle of the Baltic, Ye Mari- 
ners of England, and Hohenlinden. 

Novelists. 

It is interesting to observe the march and countermarch of 
the Novel and Drama. Since the appearance of the first Eng- 
lish novel, there has been a steady decline in the productions 
of dramatic literature, and a continued and rapid advance in 
the novel, until at the present day the narrative element has 
become the chief feature in prose literature. This age of the 
novel may be compared to the Elizabethan age of the drama, 
each representing the exuberance of imaginative genius. Nor 
is there any reason why they may not again change places, 
and the drama resume its original sovereignty. To the novel- 
ist, a wider latitude is given than to the poet and dramatist. 
He is subject to no conventional rules of composition, no re- 
straints except those imposed by good taste and knowledge. 
The scope of the novel, too, is infinite ; the exponent of real 
life in a fictitious garb, it may take all human experience for 
its realm. 

Dickens and Thackeray had both become famous long before 
1850, and were the acknowledged heads in the realm of fiction. 
But in 1847 appeared a novel of such interest, strength, and 
beauty, that their preeminence might well be questioned. This 
was the novel of Jane Eyre, by " Currer Bell."- Two years 
afterwards Shirley appeared from the same pen, and the ob- 
scure "Currer Bell " was discovered to be Charlotte Broxte 
(1816-1855), daughter of a clergyman in the village of Haworth, 
Yorkshire. In 1853 her next novel, YiUette, was published. 

* The three sisters, Charlotte, Emily, and Aotte Bronte, made their first 
appearance in the literary world under the assumed names of "Currer," "Ellis." 
and "Acton Bell." These names were attached to a volume of poems, which was 
unsuccessful. Again the three tried their fortunes in the literary field, with but 
little better success. This time the work of each was a novel. Charlotte's was 
entitled The Professor, Emily's Wulhering Heights, and Anne's Agnes Gray. Char- 
lotte's was returned with the encouraging advice to try again. She did try again, 
and the very same day 'The Professor was returned she commenced the novel of Jane 
Eyre, which was published in 1847. Its success was immediate and unparalleled. 



THE LAKE POETS, 



227 



Charlotte married her father's curate, Mr. Xicholls. She died 
in less than a year afterwards.* 

CARLYLE. 

The literature of Germany, which only sprang into vigorous 
life the latter part of the eighteenth century or the beginning 
of the nineteenth, had great influence upon the English writers 
of that time. Everywhere among thinking minds we see its 
vivifying power. 

No English writer shows greater evidence of this influence 
than Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881). To a naturally fearless, 
independent mind, it added intensity and vigor. His thoughts 
moulded themselves into heavy weapons, which he wielded 
against all forms of sham and hypocrisy. His words fell with 
sledge-hammer force, and there is inspiration in their very 
ring. He is the Thor of writers, and the ring of his mighty 
hammer will echo through all time with the earnest purpose 
of his strokes. He has been accused of writing for dramatic 
effect. He certainly succeeded in producing dramatic effects. 
His subjects are vigorously conceived, and as vigorously exe- 
cuted ; such writing must produce strong effects. Force was 
his idol. 

Carlyle takes his place in literature as essayist, historian, 
biographer, translator, and satirist, while in all there is the 
inquiring mind of the philosopher. His first works were 
critiques on Jfontesquieu, Montaigne^ Nelson^ Norfolk^ and the 
two Pitts, published in Brewster's Edinburgh Encyclopaedia. 
Soon after he translated G-oethe's WiJheJm Meister^ which was 
followed by the Life of Schiller, and an unequalled Essay on 
Bums. 

Sartor Besartus, published in 1833, brought Carlyle promi- 
nently before the public. It is really a philosophical essay, 
but purports to be the history of an imaginary German pro- 

* " Early on Saturday morniDg. March 31st. the solemn tolling of Haworth church- 
bell spoke forth the fact of her death to the villagers, who had known her from a 
child, and whose hearts shiTered within them as they thought of the two sitting 
desolate and alone in the old gray house. * * * * Few beyond that circle of hills 
knew that she, whom the nations praised afar off. lay dead that Easter morning. 
Of kith and kin, she had more in the grave, to which she was soon to be borne, than 
among the living."— From the Life of Charlotte Bronte, by Mrs. Gaskeil. 



228 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



fessor. The title Sartor Besartus literally means the Tailor re- 
tailored or re-made. The work is a disquisition on the relative 
value of the material and immaterial. With grim humor, he 
treats of the philosophy of clothes. Society is invested in worn- 
out rags, and under this shabby habiliment the u divine idea " 
is concealed. 

In 1837 Carlyle published his French Revolution — a series, as 
it has been called, of " terrific tableaux."* After the publica- 
tion of the French Revolution, he wrote Critical and Miscella- 
neous Essays, and Chartism. His essays on Hero Worship were 
delivered in London in 1840 as lectures, and published the 
next year. His Latter-Bay Pamphlets assailed with invective 
and ridicule the institutions and politicians of his day. He is 
unsparing in his censure and irony. "Poor devils," " fools," 
" blockheads, " and u knaves," are terms he never hesitates to 
use. He also wrote the Life of Oliver Cromwell, Life of John 
Sterling, The Past and Present, besides numerous articles pub- 
lished in various Reviews. His Critique on BoswelVs Johnson 
shows the tenderness of his nature as well as the strength. 
Evidences, however, of the gentleness of his nature are not 
wanting, but his u intense convictions" oftener found utter- 
ance, and, to the eyes of the world, he is the exponent of force 
merely. 

Among his later works his greatest is the Life of Frederick 
the Great, the first portion of which appeared in 1858, the last 
in 1865. Few critics, probably, have sounded Carlyle's depths, 
but all must feel the genuine ring of his " gospel of Work," of 
Duty, of Truth, and Force. 

Thomas Babington Macaulay (1808-1859) may be ranked 
almost equally well among poets, essayists, and historians. 
His Lays of Ancient Rome have a genuine ring, and hold a high 



* The manuscript of this wonderful work, having been lent to a friend for inspec- 
tion, was by accident destroyed, an ignorant servant taking it to light a fire. This 
brilliant and extensive work was the result of unwearied years of research and labor. 
Long afterwards Carlyle thus spoke to one of his friends of the disastrous event : 
" For three days and nights I could neither eat nor sleep, but was like a daft man. 
Then I went away into the country, and did nothing for three months but read 
Marry at's novels. Then I set to work and wrote it all over again. But," said he, 
sadly, and in his native Scotch dialect, " I dinna think it 's the same ; no, I dinna 
think it 's the same." 



THE LAKE POETS. 



229 



rank in lyric poetry. His Essays are masterly productions, and 
his History is unrivalled in its strength of conception and clear- 
ness of expression. With strong sympathies and antipathies, 
he is not always just nor reliable ; and for the sake of a brill- 
iant period, he has sometimes sacrificed important truths, 
His vivid imagination wrought intense pictures. The first 
portion of Macaulay 's History of England appeared in 1848. 
The history begins at the accession of James II.. and was to 
be carried down to the writer's own time. But ill-health as- 
sailed him, and the work was only carried to the time of "Wil- 
liam nr.* 

The Essays of Macaulay are nearly all biographical. The 
first prose that drew him into public notice was his Essay on 
Milton, published, as most of his essays were, in the Edinburgh 
Review. This was followed by his Essay on Lord Bacon. Lord 
Clive, Warren Hastings, Sir Bobert Wadpole, Sir William TempU, 
and many more. He also wrote a great many critical reviews, 
as of Hollands Constitutioncd History, BosxcelVs Johnson, Horace 
Wa 1 pole's Letters, etc. 

In 1830 Macaulay entered Parliament, and, after his memo- 
rable speech on the bill for the renewal of the charter of the 
East India Company, he was made a member of the Supreme 
Council of India. He spent three years in India, and, becom- 
ing acquainted with its history and inhabitants, was rendered 
all the more able to produce his brilliant essays on Lord Clive 
and Warren Hastings. Ee turning from India in 1838. he again 
entered Parliament, this time as a representative of the city 
of Edinburgh. He was raised to the peerage in 1857, with the 
title of Baron Macaulay. t 

One of the greatest names among historical writers of this 
period is that of Hexhy Hallam (1778-1859 !. His first im- 
portant work was a Vieio of the State of Europe during the Middle 
Ages, published in 1818. Supplemental Notes were afterwards 
added. His next work was The Constitutioncd History of Eng- 

* Some one has called the history 11 an epic poem, with King William for its hero." 
Macaulay was a stanch Whig. 

fMacaulay*s life was mainly that of a scholar. He mingled rarely in the gay 
circles of the fashionable literary world, except now and then at the Holland House. 
His father, Zachary Macaulay, was of Scotch descent. He was a friend of Wilber- 
force, and a zealous advocate of the abolition of the slave-trade. 
20 



230 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



land from the Accession of Henry VIL to the Death of George IL 
His most important work was his Introduction to the Literature 
of Europe in the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Centuries. 

Charles Lamb (1775-1834) was more intimately associated 
with the writers given in the present chapter, although more 
strictly contemporary with those of the preceding chapter. 
We are attracted to this genial writer by his exuberance of 
joyous spirits, his innumerable social qualities, and. above all, 
by his life of cheerful self-abnegation. 

Among his warm friends were Coleridge, Wordsworth, 
Southey, Hood, De Quincey,- Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt.f His 
principal works are his Essays, under the signature of Ella. 
An enthusiastic admirer of the drama, he was the first to 
bring into the popular notice of the nineteenth century The 
Old English Dramatists of Shakespeare's Time, by publishing 
Specimens of their works. With his sister, Mary Lamb, he 
wrote Tales from Shakespeare. 

Illustrations of the Literature of Wordsworth's 

Age. 

WORD S WORTH . 

A Portrait. 

She was a phantom of delight 

When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 

A lovely apparition, sent 

To be a moment's ornament ; 

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; 

Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 

But all things else about her drawn 

From May-time and the cheerful dawn; 

A dancing shape, an image gay, 

To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 



* The brilliant mind of Thomas De Quincey (1785-1859) became totally wrecked 
by the habit of opium eating ; from which fact, and from his having written a work 
called Confession of an Opium-Eater, he has obtained the name of the "English Opium- 
Eater." 

t Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) and William Hazlitt (1778-1830) were, with Charles 
Lamb, among the finest essayists and critics of the time. 



LITERATURE OF WORDSWORTH'S AGE, 231 



I saw her upon nearer view, 

A spirit, yet a woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin liberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 

A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food ; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A traveller betwixt life and death ; 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill, 
A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light. 

From Ode. 

ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY 

CHILDHOOD. 

The child is Father of the Man ; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth, and every common sight, 

To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore; 

Turn wheresoe'er I may, 

By night or day, 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 

The Rainbow comes and goes, 
And lovely is the Rose, 
The Moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the Heavens are bare ; 



HISTORY OF EXGLISH LITERATURE, 



Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. 
* * * * * -x- * 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And cometh from afar : 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness. 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home : 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 
And, even with something of a mother's mind, 

And no unworthy aim, 

The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate man, 

Forget the glories he hath known, 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 
****** 

joy ! that in our embers 
Is something that doth live, 

That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : not indeed 
For that which is most worthy to be blest ; 



LITERATURE OF WORDSWORTH'S AGE. 233 



Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : 
Not for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings; 
Blank misgivings of a Creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts before which our mortal Nature, 
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised : 
But for those first affections, 
Those shadowy recollections, 
Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing; 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal Silence; truths that wake 

To perish never; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 

Nor Man nor Boy, 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence in a season of calm weather, 
Though inland far we be, 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea, 
Which brought us hither, 
Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the Children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

Sonnets. 

(The World is Too Much with Us.) 

The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
Little we see in nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon I 
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 
20* 



234 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; 
For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be 
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

Milton. 

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour; 

England hath need of thee; she is a fen 

Of stagnant waters ; altar, sword, and pen, 

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 

Have forfeited their ancient English dower 

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 

Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart ; 

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea 

Pure as the naked heavens — majestic, free, 

So didst thou travel on life's common way 

In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 

The lowliest duties on herself didst lay. 

From Sonnets. 

Scorn not the sonnet ; critic, you have frowned, 
Mindless of its just honors; with this key 
Shakespeare unlocked his heart. * * * 

* * * and when a damp 
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 
The thing became a trumpet. 



Plain living and high thinking are no more. 

From Three Years She Grew, etc. 

And she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place, 
Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
And beauty born of murmuring sound, 

Shall pass into her face. 



LITERATURE OF WORDSWORTH'S AGE. 235 



From Tintern Abbey. 

That best portion of a good man's life, 
His little, nameless, unremembered acts 
Of kindness and of love. 

The sounding cataract 

Haunted me like a passion. — Ibid. 

Hearing oftentimes 

The still, sad music of humanity. — Ibid. 

Nature never did betray 

The heart that loved her. — Ibid. 

From Peter Bell. 

In vain, through every changeful year, 
Did Nature lead him, as before ; 
A primrose by a river's brim, 
A yellow primrose was to him. 
And it was nothing more. 

From The Solitary Reaper. 

The music in my heart I bore 
Long after it was heard no more. 

COLERIDGE. 

From The Ancient Mariner. 

And now there came both mist and snow, 
And it grew wondrous cold ; 
And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 
As green as emerald ; 

And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
Did send a dismal sheen ; 
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — 
The ice was all between. 

The ice was here, the ice was there, 
The ice was all around ; 

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, 
Like noises in a swound! 

At length did cross an albatross ; 
Thorough the fog it came : 



286 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



As if it had been a Christian soul, 
We hailed it in God's name. 

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, 
And round and round it flew: 
The ice did split with a thunder-fit; 
The helmsman steered us through. 

And a good south wind sprang up behind; 

The albatross did follow, 

And every day, for food or play, 

Came to the mariners' hollo ! 

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 

It perched for vespers nine; 

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, 

Glimmered the white moonshine. 

"God save thee, ancient mariner, 
From the fiends that plague thee thus ! 
Why look'st thou so?" With my crossbow 
I shot the albatross. 

PART II. 

The sun now rose upon the right, 
Out of the sea came he; 
Still hid in mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 

And the good south wind still blew behind, 
But no sweet bird did follow; 
Nor any day for food or play 
Came to the mariners' hollo! 

And I had done a hellish thing, 

And it would work 'em woe ; 

For all averred I had killed the bird 

That made the breeze to blow. 

" Ah, wretch ! " said they, " the bird to slay 

That made the breeze to blow!" 

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, 
The glorious sun uprist: 
Then all averred I had killed the bird 
That brought the fog and mist. 



LITERATURE OF WORDSWORTH'S AGE. 



"'Twas right," said they, "such birds to slay 
That bring the fog and mist." 

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 

The furrow followed free ; 

We were the first that ever burst 

Into that silent sea. 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
'Twas sad as sad could be; 
And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea! 

All in a hot and copper sky, 
The bloody sun at noon 
Right up above the mast did stand, 
No bigger than the moon. 

Day after day, day after day, 
We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

Water, water, everywhere, 
And all the boards did shrink; 
Water, water, everywhere, 
Nor any drop to drink. 

The very deep did rot; O Christ! 
That ever this should be! 
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
Upon the slimy sea. 

About, about, in reel and rout 
The death-fires danced at night; 
The water, like a witch's oils, 
Burnt green, and blue, and white. 

And some in dreams assured were 
Of the spirit that plagued us so; 
Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
From the land of mist and snow. 

# * * * * ♦ 

And the coming wind did roar more loud, 
And the sails did sigh like sedge; 



238 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



And the rain poured down from one black cloud; 
The moon was at its edge. 

* * * # * 
Around, around flew each sweet sound, 
Then darted to the sun; 

Slowly the sounds came back again, 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

Sometimes a dropping from the sky, 
I heard the skylark sing; 
Sometimes all little birds that are, 
How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
With their sweet jargoning! 

And now 'twas like all instruments, 
Now like a lonely flute ; 
And now it is an angel's song, 
That makes the heavens be mute. 

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 

A pleasant noise till noon ; 

A noise like of a hidden brook 

In the leafy month of June, 

That to the sleeping woods all night 

Singeth a quiet tune. 

* * * * # 
He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast; — 
He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small, 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all. 

* * * * # 
A sadder and a wiser man, 

He rose the morrow morn. 

From Christabel. 

There is not wind enough to twirl 
The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 
That dances as often as dance it can, 
Hanging so light, and hanging so high, 
On the topmost twig that looks up to the sky. 
****** 



LITERATURE OF WORDSWORTH'S AGE. 



Alas, they had been friends in youth, 
But whispering tongues can poison truth, 
And constancy lives in realms above, 
And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ; 
And to be wroth with one we love, 
Doth work like madness in the brain. 

SOUTHEY. 

From The March to Moscow. 

The Emperor Nap he would set off 
On a summer excursion to Moscow; 

The fields were green, and the sky was blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow! 
■* -x- * * * * 

The Russians they stuck close to him 
All on the road from Moscow. 

There was Tormazow and Jemalow, 
And all the others that end in ow; 

Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch, 
And Karatschkowitch, 

And all the others that end in itch ; 
SchamschefF, Souchosaneff, 
And Schepaleff, 

And all the others that end in eff; 
Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff, 
And Tchoglokoff, 

And all the others that end in off; 
Kajeffsky, and Novereffsky, 
And Rieffsky, 

And all the others that end in effsky; 
Oscharoffsky and Kostoffsky, 

And all the others that end in offsky; 
And Platoff he play'd them off, 

And Shouvaloff he shovelled them off, 
And Markoff he marked them off, 
And Krosnoff lie crossed them off, 
And Tuchkoff he touched them off, 
And Boraskoff he bored them off, 
And Kutousoff he cut them off, 
And Parenzoff he pared them off, 



240 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



And Worronzoff he worried them off, 
And Doctoroff he doctored them off, 
And Eodionoff he flogged them off, 
And, last of all, an Admiral came, 
A terrible man with a terrible name, 
A name which you all know by sight very well, 
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell. 
They, stuck close to Nap with all their might ; 
They were on the left and on the right, 
Behind and before, and by day and by night ; 
He would rather parlez vous than fight ; 
But he looked white, and he looked blue, 

Morbleu ! Parbleu ! 
When parlez vous no more would do, 
For they remembered Moscow. 

HOOD. 

From The Tale of a Trumpet. 

She was deaf as a stone — say one of the stones 

Demosthenes sucked to improve his tones ; 

And surely deafness no further could reach 

Than to be in his mouth without hearing his speech. 

* ■* * * * * * 

She was deaf as a nut, for nuts, no doubt, 
Are deaf to the grub that 's hollowing out ; 
She was deaf, alas ! as the dead and forgotten. 
Gray has noticed the waste of breath 
In addressing the dull, cold ear of death. 

From A [Nocturnal Sketch. 
Even is come; and from the dark park hark! 
The signal of the setting sun — one gun ! 
And six is sounding from the chime, prime time 
To go and see the Drury Lane Dane slain, 
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out, 
Or Macbeth raving at the shade-made blade 
Denying to his frantic clutch much touch. 

From Miss Kilmansegg. 
The very metal of merit they told, 
And praised her for being as good as gold 



LITERATURE OF WORDS WORTH'S AGE. 241 



Till she grew as a peacock haughty ; 
Of money they talk'd the whole day round. 
And weigh'd desert like grapes by the pound, 
Till she had an idea from the very sound. 

That people with naught were naughty. 

****** 
The books to teach the verbs and nouns, 
And those about countries, cities, and towns. 
Instead of their sober drabs and browns, 
Were in crimson silk, with gilt edges; 
Old Johnson shone out in as fine array 
As he did one night when he went to the play; 
Lindley Murray in like condition ; 
Each weary, unwelcome, irksome task 
Appeared in a fancy dress and a mask. 

From Ode to Melancholy. 

There's not a string attuned to mirth. 
But has its chord in melancholy. 

LEIGH HUNT. 

Abou Ben Adhem. 

Abou Ben Adhem — may his tribe increase ! — 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold. 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the presence in his room he said. 
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answer' d, " The names of those who love the Lord." 
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 
The angel wrote and vanish' d. The next night 
It came again with a great wakening light. 
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd. 
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 
21 O 



242 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



CARLYLE. 

From An Address Delivered to the Students of 
the University of Edinburgh. 

If you will believe me, you who are young, yours is the golden season 
of life. As you have heard it called, so it verily is, — the seed-time of 
life, in which, if you do not sow, or if you sow tares instead of wheat, 
you cannot expect to reap well afterwards, — you will bitterly repent 
when it is too late. The habits of study acquired at universities are of 
the highest importance in after-life. At the season when you are young 
in years, the whole mind is, as it were, fluid, and is capable of forming 
itself into any shape that the owner of the mind pleases to let it, or 
order it to form itself into.' Pursue your studies in the way your con- 
science calls honest. Keep an actual separation between what you have 
really come to know in your own minds and what is still unknown. 
Count a thing known only when it is stamped on your mind, so that 
you may survey it on all sides with intelligence. There is such a thing 
as a man endeavoring to persuade himself, and endeavoring to persuade 
others, that he knows about things, when he does not know more than 
the outside skin of them ; and yet he goes flourishing about with them. 
Avoid all that, as entirely unworthy of an honorable mind. Gradually 
see what kind of work you can do ; for it is the first of all problems for 
a man to find out what kind of work he is to do in this universe. 

A man is born to expend every particle of strength that God has 
given him, in doing the work he finds he is fit for, — to stand up to it to 
the last breath of life, and to do his best. We are called upon to do 
that ; and the reward we all get is that we have got the work done, or, 
at least, that we have tried to do the work. For that is a great blessing 
in itself ; and, I should say, there is not very much more reward than 
that going in this world. If the man gets meat and clothes, what mat- 
ters it whether he have ten thousand pounds or seventy pounds a year? 
He can get meat and clothes for that : and he will find very little differ- 
ence, intrinsically, if he is a wise man. 

Finally, gentlemen, I have one advice to give you, which is practi- 
i cally of very great importance, — that health is a thing to be attended 
to continually, — that you are to regard that as the very highest of all 
temporal things. There is no kind of achievement you could make in 
the world that is equal to perfect health. 



Dost thou think that there is no justice ? It is what the fool hath 
said in his heart. I tell thee again there is nothing else but justice. 



LITERATURE OF WORDSWORTH'S AGE. 243 



One strong thing I find here below ; the just thing, the true thing. My 
friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at thy back 
in support of an unjust thing, and bonfires ahead of thee to blaze cen- 
turies long for thy victory in behalf of it, I would advise thee to call 
halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, " In God's name, no ! " Thy 
"success"? Poor devil, what will thy success amount to? If the 
thing is unjust, thou hast not succeeded. 

MACAULAY. 

From Essay on Milton. 

There are a few characters which have stood the closest scrutiny and 
the severest tests, which have been tried in the furnace, and have proved 
pure, which have been weighed in the balance, and have not been found 
wanting, which have been declared sterling by the general consent of 
mankind, and which are visibly stamped with the image and superscrip- 
tion of the Most High. These great men we trust that we know how 
to prize ; and of these was Milton. The sight of his books, the sound 
of his name, are refreshing to us. His thoughts resemble those celestial 
fruits and flowers which the Virgin Martyr of Massinger sent down from 
the gardens of Paradise to the earth, distinguished from the productions 
of other soils, not only by their superior bloom and sweetness, but by 
their miraculous efficacy to invigorate and to heal. They are powerful 
not only to delight, but to elevate and purify. Nor do we envy the man 
who can study either the life or the writings of the great poet and patriot 
without aspiring to emulate, not indeed the sublime works with which 
his genius has enriched our literature, but the zeal with Avhich he 
labored for the public good, the fortitude with which he endured every 
private calamity, the lofty disdain with which he looked down on temp- 
tation and dangers, the deadly hatred which he bore to bigots and 
tyrants, and the faith which he so sternly kept with his country and 
with his fame. 

CHARLES LAMB. 

From A Letter to Coleridge. 

I have been reading The Task with fresh delight. I am glad you love 
Cowper. I could forgive a man for not enjoying Milton ; but I would 
not call that man my friend who should be offended with the " divine 
chit-chat of Cowper." 

I am wedded, Coleridge, to the fortunes of my sister and my poor old 
father. Oh, my friend ! I think sometimes, could I recall the days that 



244 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



are past, which among them should I choose ? Not those " merrier 
days," not the " pleasant days of hope," not " those wanderings with a 
fair-haired maid," which I have so often and so feelingly regretted, but 
the days, Coleridge, of a mother's fondness for her school-boy. What 
would I give to call her back to earth for one day, on my knees to ask 
her pardon for all those little asperities of temper which, from time to 
time, have given her gentle spirit pain. 

From Popular Fallacies. 
Candle-light is our own peculiar and household planet. Wanting it, 
what savage, unsocial nights must our ancestors have spent, wintering 
in caves and unillumined fastnesses ! They must have lain about and 
grumbled at one another in the dark. What repartees could have 
passed, when you must have felt about for a smile, and handled a neigh- 
bor's cheek to be sure that he understood it ? This accounts for the 
seriousness of the elder poetry. . . . Jokes came in with candles. 

Syllabus. 

George IV. died in 1830. His successor, William IV., reigned seven 
years, during which time important measures of government were begun. 

Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey were called the Lake Poets, because 
they lived by the lakes in the north of England. In the main they held 
opinions in common concerning the art of poetry, but Wordsworth main- 
taiued that the ordinary topics of daily life were fit subjects for poetry, and 
that the language should be that used in conversation. In this Coleridge 
differed, believing that the language of poetry should be more refined than 
that used by the uneducated. Wordsworth was ridiculed by critics, but at 
his death was considered the first poet of the age. 

Coleridge possessed rare genius, but lacked firmness of will. He was 
remarkable as a conversationist. Many of his poems are fragmentary. 
Coleridge and Wordsworth published their first poems together. 

Southey will be longer remembered as a man than as a poet, yet his 
works, prose and poetry, fill one hundred and nine volumes. His self-sac- 
rificing care of Coleridge is ever to be admired. 

Thomas Hood was the greatest humorist of the age, and intimate with 
Charles Lamb, another great humorist. 

The novel supplanted the drama. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte, ap- 
peared in 1847. Dickens and Thackeray had also become famous, but 
became still more famous during the next period. 

Carlyle and Macaulay were the most brilliant prose writers of the time — 
Carlyle caring more for the thought than the manner in which it was ex- 
pressed, Macaulay sacrificing everything to style. 



TENNYSON. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

The Victorian Age. 

1850 to the Present Time. 

QUEEN VICTOEIA ascended the throne in 1837. The 
measures of reform begun in the reign of her predecessor 
were extended. In 1845 the corn laws were repealed, and in 
1867, after innumerable efforts, a new Keform Bill was passed. 
Since then there has been a constant ebb and flow in English 
politics. 

From 1832 until the present time there has been a steady 
intellectual growth. One marked change may be observed, 
more, perhaps, in the popular taste than in authorship. In 
the early and middle part of the century it was a new poem 
that attracted the attention of the reading public, to-day it is 
the new novel. The masses, owing to a greater diffusion of 
education, are now demanding literature as a recreation, and 
the romance and story of every-day life best suit the popular 
taste. The age demands prose rather than poetry. The new 
facts revealed by science, the new light in which history is 
viewed, give to scientific and historic works a place and inter- 
est in literature unknown before. 

It is . not a necessary conclusion that poetry declines as civil- 
ization advances. Poetry, the highest form of human expres- 
sion, can never decline. Its outward forms may vary, and the 
21 * 245 



246 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



history of literature shows that both prose and poetry have 

been subject to freaks, — whims of art.* 

Alfred Tennyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and 
Robert Browning hold the highest rank among the Yictorian 
poets. 

For fifty years Alfred Tennyson (1810 ) has steadily 

kept his place in public favor, and for more than thirty years 
he has been poet-laureate of England. His highest poetic art 
is expressed in his shortest lyrics. They are the very condensa- 
tion of feeling and expression. The PoeVs Song; Break, Break, 
Break, and the Bugle Song, are among the rarest gems in the 
language. Human utterance seemed to reach perfection in the 
Bugle Song, while that which lies beyond all utterance is illus- 
trated in Break, Break, Break. In Memoriam, one of his long- 
est poems, is an elegy written on the death of his beloved 
friend Arthur Henry HALLAMf (1811-1833). It contains 
gems of thought and expression. In The Idylls of the King, 
Tennyson has given new life to the traditions of King Arthur 
and his Knights of the Bound-Table, retaining to a remarkable 
degree the spirit of the original stories. Among other longer 
poems are The Princess (a medley), 1847 ; Maud, 1856 ; Enoch 
Arden, 1864. Queen Mary (a drama) was published in 1875, 
and was followed the next year by Harold, another dramatic 
poem. Since then The Lover^s Tale, The Revenge (a ballad), 
and other minor poems have been published. 

Among the most popular poems of Tennyson are Locksley 



* When, in Elizabeth's time, " Euphuism " prevailed in England, threatening to 
enervate the vigorous prose, Gabriel Harvey, a friend of Spenser's and S|r Philip 
Sidney's, had nearly persuaded these poets to join with himself to " reform " English 
poetry, — to abolish rhyme and introduce the Latin system of quantity in verse. 
Good sense prevailed, however, over false taste, and the scheme did not prosper. 
Still, as we have seen, other schools sprang up,— the " metaphysical," " classical," and 
"foolish-fantastical," as the Delia Cruscan school might be termed, which had an 
ephemeral existence in the latter part of the eighteenth century. This school was 
the outgrowth of an unhealthy fancy entertained by a few self-styled poets, who, 
from their leader's pseudonym, took the name of Delia Cruscans. A similar un- 
healthy movement may be noticed at the present day, in a style of poetry which 
had a healthy origin in the ,pre-Raphaelite school of art originated by Ruskin, 
but which has at the present day degenerated into the burlesqued school of 
" sestheticism." 

f A son of the historian. 



THE VICTORIAN AGE, 



247 



Hall, Godiva. Dora, The Lord of Burleigh, The May Queen, The 
Two Voices, Lady Clare, The Talking Oak, etc. 

Tennyson was born in Somersby, Lincolnshire. For many 
years he has resided mainly on the Isle of Wight. His two 
elder brothers, Frederick and Charles, also published poems. 
The laureate's first publication was with his brother Charles, in 
a volume entitled Poems by Two Brothers. In 1883, Tennyson 
received from the Queen the title of Baron. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1809-1861) was born 
in London. She was an invalid the most of her life. Her early 
education was carefully watched by her father, a wealthy Eng- 
lish gentleman. She was very precocious, acquiring when quite 
young a knowledge of the classics rarely possessed by young 
men of her age. When she was but seventeen her Essay on 
Mind was published. The work which brought her first before 
the public was her translation of Prometheus Bound, from the 
old Greek poet iEschylus. Then followed The Seraphim, A 
Drama of Exile, etc. In 1850 she wrote Lady Geraldine's Court- 
ship, and the next year Casa Guidi Windows. The longest poem, 
Aurora Leigh, has been styled u a novel in verse," and was 
written, it might seem, to advocate her u convictions upon 
Life and Art." Other poems are Bertha in the Lane, The Lost 
Bower, The Cry of the Children, The Cry of the Human, The 
Bhyme of the Duchess May, The Vision of Poets, etc., beside 
innumerable Sonnets. Her Sonnets from the Portuguese, like 
Shakespeare's sonnets, best reveal her own inner life. 

The poetry of Mrs. Browning is not of a popular order. It 
fits heights and depths of moods. It is only in moments of 
exaltation on the reader's part that her full meaning flashes 
upon him. Her heart was open to the cry of humanity, and 
her sympathies intensely awakened with the oppressed of 
every nation. For years she resided with her husband, Kobert 
Browning, and their one son, in Florence, and watched with the 
eye of a patriot the fate of Italy, and the actions of Napoleon 
III., Victor Emmanuel, and Garibaldi. 

The poetry of Robert Browning (1812 ) is seldom 

melodious and seldom easily understood. He appeals only to 
the highly cultured, and rarely seems to do his best. His first 
production was Paracelsus (a drama), followed by Bells and 



248 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Pomegranates, a series of poems ; A Blot on the 'Scutcheon, Pippa 
Passes, Men and Women, Dramatis Personal, and The Ring and 
the Book. Among his shorter poems the Bide from Ghent to 
Aix is a masterpiece in action and intensity. His genius is 
of a high dramatic order. The Blot on the 1 Scutcheon, in lan- 
guage, poetic conception, and tragic interest, excels any drama 
of the century. 

Novelists. 

Among the throng of novelists since Scott, the names of four 
stand out as stars of the first magnitude. They were Char- 
lotte Bronte, already mentioned, Dickens, Thackeray, 
and " George Eliot." Yet even without these most illus- 
trious names in fiction, the department of English literature 
would be well represented by other novelists who adorn the 
age. 

Charles Dickens (1812-1870) was born at Landport, in 
Portsea, England. His childhood was unhappy. His father 
being imprisoned for debt in Marshalsea prison, the boy en- 
gaged himself in a blacking warehouse. This portion of his 
life he endured as a degradation, feeling that all of his young, 
ambitious hopes were extinguished, in thus being forced to 
mingle with the coarse and ignorant and crafty. From this 
galling life he was rescued, and sent for two years to school. 
At the age of fifteen he was placed at an attorney's office in an 
inferior capacity. Soon after he studied short-hand, and be- 
came a reporter in Parliament, — a good discipline for the future 
novelist, enabling him with his quick sympathies and imagi- 
nation to give with vitalized energy the thoughts and feelings 
of the speaker. While he was engaged as reporter for the 
"Morning Chronicle," he one day wrote a story, and stealthily 
dropped it into the letter-box of the " Old Monthly Magazine." 
It appeared in print, " on which occasion," says he, " I walked 
down to Westminster Hall, and turned into it for half an 
hour, because my eyes were so dimmed with joy." This was 
the beginning of Dickens's literary career. From this followed 
Sketches by Boz, which may, indeed, be considered his first 
work. It was published in 1836. His next work was Pick- ' 
wick Papers. He then began editing "Bentley's Magazine," 
in which he published Oliver Twist. The publication of Nich- 



THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



249 



olas 'Nickleby followed ; then Old Curiosity- Shop and Barnaby 
Budge. 

In 1842 Dickens visited America, publishing, the next year, 
his American Notes and Martin Chuzzlewit. The same year he 
began his famous series of Christmas Stories. These were fol- 
lowed by Domhey and Son and David Copperjield. After the 
completion of David Copperjield, Dickens established and be- 
came the editor of " Household Words," which was followed 
by U A11 the Year Round." In those two magazines were 
published Bleak House, Hard Times, Little Dorrit, A Tale of 
Two Cities, Great Expectations j Our Mutual Friend^ and The 
3Iystery of Edwin Droody The latter was unfinished when the 
great author died. 

His warm, genial heart beat in unison with the joys and 
sorrows of his fellow-men. + He lived in his works. The crea- 
tions of his fancy became to him real men and women. * His 
men and women are often exaggerations, showing what man- 
kind might be. The very sunshine of happiness seems to issue 
from his heart and to inspire all that it touches. To make 
people happy whether they will be or not, seems to be his aim. 
Thus he symbolizes the happy, sunny spirit in the sweet music 
which the " Golden Locksmith " hammers from his anvil : 

" Tink, tink, tink, — clear as a silver bell, and audible at every pause 
of the streets' harsher noises, as though it said, ' I don't care. Nothing 
puts me out. I am resolved to be happy.' Women scolded, children 
squalled, still it struck in again, no higher, no lower, — tink, tink, tink." 

Dickens thoroughly identifies himself with his creations. 
The griefs of " Poor Joe " and " Smike " are all his own. In a 
transport, himself, with the freaks of his fancy, he infuses his 
actual spirit into dumb life. The little image of the hay-maker, 
on the top of the Dutch clock, is as animated as the cricket on 
the hearth; the toys in "Caleb PlummerV' shop people the 
dingy little room with a curious sort of life. How he loved to 
portray the frolic of the wind ; investing, too, the objects of its 
chase with personality. His exuberant imagination makes him 

*We are told that when he finished the death-scene of "Little Nell," it was all so 
real to him that he secluded himself from company, mourning for the little child 
whose beautiful, patient life was ended. 



250 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



as much poet as novelist, while the rhythmic measure of his 
prose flows as delightfully as a poem. But his mission was to 
the brotherhood of the race— to the poor and lowly— rather 
than to the world of song. 

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863), though less 
genial than Dickens, is as powerful in his delineations of char- 
acter. He is a keen satirist, unmerciful in his truthfulness, 
when he holds up to ridicule the foibles and weaknesses of 
mankind. In Dickens's characters we see our neighbors' 
faults reflected ; in Thackeray's, we see our own. But if his 
satire is severe, his humor is mellowed with kindliness. It 
was for the arrogant and deceitful in fashionable society that 
he kept his blade sharpened. No man was ever more chari- 
table to weakness when unconcealed by deception. 

The family of Thackeray was originally from Yorkshire. 
His father and grandfather had occupied positions in India 
in the employ of the East India Company. Thackeray was 
born in Calcutta, but at the death of his father soon after, 
was taken by his mother to England. He was placed at the 
famous Charter-House School, and afterwards at Cambridge.* 
While here he edited a journal entitled The Snob, Thackeray's 
early inclination was more towards art than literature. Hap- 
pily he combined them, and with his own sketches illustrated 
several of his later literary works. He first wrote under the 
nom de plume of "Michael Angelo Titmarsh." His principal 
works under his own name are Vanity Fair, History of Pendennis, 
Bebecca and Bowena, Henry Esmond, The JSfetccomes, The Vir- 
ginians, and lectures on The Four Georges. 

In 1860 he started the u Cornhill Magazine," in which were 
published his Boundabout Papers, also the stories of Lovel the 
Widower , and Philip on his Way through the Worlds 

" George Eliot" (Mrs. Lewes, 1820-1881) was one of the 
most gifted of English novelists. Her maiden name was Mary 
Ann Evans. After the death of Mr. Lewes, who was also a 
writer of great ability, " George Eliot" married Mr. J. jST. 
Cross. By those who knew her intimately, she was highly 
esteemed and loved. Until she was twenty years of age 



* Tennyson was a fellow-student here. 



THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



251 



she resided in her native place near Kuneaton, Warwickshire. 
She acquired a wide mastery of the languages, and was a 
proficient in music. Before she was known as a novelist, she 
contributed to various London periodicals. The publication 
of her novel Adam Bede brought her fully into public notice. 
This was followed by Scenes of Clerical Life, The Mill on the 
Floss, Silas Marner, Bomola, Felix Holt, The Spanish Gypsy, 
a poem ; Middlemarch, Legend ofjubal, a poem ; Daniel Deronda, 
Impressions of Theophrastus Such. 

Philosophy— Writers on Science. 

In no department of literature has there been such rapid 
strides as in the literature of science. Whereas but a few 
years ago the very term literature excluded all works of sci- 
ence as technical, to-day it embraces as its greatest ornaments 
the writings of the popular scientists Darwin, Huxley, 
Tyndall, Owen, Wallace, etc. 

The appearance of the Origin of Species in 1859, by Charles 
Darwin. (1809-1882), created a new era in the history of sci- 
ence. Although the theories advocated by him in that work 
originated with ancient philosophers, Darwin deserves all the 
credit of originality. He received much ridicule and censure, 
as all do who deviate from accustomed lines of thought. In 
1871 appeared his Descent of Man, which was even more start- 
ling than his first work. He published numerous other works 
bearing upon the theory of evolution, etc. Thomas Henry 
Huxley (1825 ) is one of the most distinguished natu- 
ralists of the age. His principal works are Man's Place in 
Nature, Classification of Animals, Lay Sermons, etc. In con- 
junction with Professor Huxley, Professor John Tyndall 
(1820 ) wrote Observations on Glaciers. Others of his princi- 
pal works are Heat Considered as a Mode of Motion, On Badia- 
tion, On Sound, Imagination in Science, Fragments of Science for 
Unscientific People, etc. Professor Tyndall has done much to 
popularize the literature of science. Bichard Owen (1804 

), another prominent scientist, has written History of Brit- 

ish Fossils, Mammals, and Birds, The Anatomy of Vertebrates, etc. 

Mrs. Mary Somerville (1780-1872), who lived to the ad- 
vanced age of ninety-two, was born in Jedburgh, Scotland. 



252 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



The reputation of this remarkable woman as a scientist was 
established when, in 1831, she published her Mechanism of the 
Heavens, a summary of the "Mecanique Celeste" of Laplace. 
She said of her work, "I simply translated Laplace's work 
from algebra into common language." Mrs. Somerville's next 
work was a concise yet comprehensive view of The Connection 
of the Physical Sciences. In 1848 she published her Physical 
Geography, and eleven years afterwards two volumes on Molec- 
ular and Microscopic Science.* 

Among the original thinkers of the period are John Stuart 
Mill (1806-1873) and Herbert Spencer (1820 - — ). The 
best known works of the former are A System of Logic, Prin- 
ciples of Political Economy, An Essay on Liberty, Essay on the 
Subjection of Women, etc. Herbert Spencer is an inter : 
preter of the mind of man and of nature's laws, and has made 
clearer the theory of evolution. Some of his principal works 
are Principles of Psychology, Principles of Biology ; Essays, Sci-. 
entific, Political, and Speculative, etc. 

History and Biography. 

For more than half a century the lustre of the three eminent 
historians, Hume, Gibbon, and Robertson, seemed to eclipse 
all minor lights. But the philosophic mind of the nineteenth 
century began to generalize, and to see in isolated events a 
connecting link of causes. History no longer remained a record 
of dry facts and dates, and historians ceased to regard the earth 
as a battle-field merely. Now it is the march of intellect that 
is noted and recorded, the u sweeter manners, purer laws " that 

* Not even old age excused this active mind from labor, and during the last year 
of her life Mrs. Somerville wrote her Personal Recollections, which was published by 
her daughter in 1873. 

Added to a rare genius for science was the rarer genius for work. To do something 
well — to excel — was the lesson her life has taught. So completely did she believe in 
the gospel of work, and so marvellously did she Order her time, that without fatigue 
she accomplished her self-assigned duties. With the wisest skill in household labors, 
with no wifely nor motherly nor social duties neglected, she pursued her scientific 
studies. Added to this she was a proficient in music, having given five hours a day 
to its practice, until she attained the degree of excellence that she demanded for 
herself. And thus the strength of her brain power infused strength and vitality to 
the body, and at the age. of ninety4wo she died, wishing mainly that she might 
" live to see the distance of the earth from the sun determined by the transit of 
Venus— and the source of the Nile discovered." '.'•*•'. ;t \\ ; J; z : . .," ~~ 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE, 



253 



guard the people. Macaulay did not aim to establish philo- 
sophic theories. He unrolled history as a dazzling panorama 
of events. The new methods of studying history came with a 
later set of writers, — with Buckle and Froude, with Grote 
and Kixglake, Freemax and Green and Lecky, etc. 

John Euskix (1819 — ), as a writer upon art, has exerted 
great influence upon the age. His first publication was Modern 
Painters. This was followed by The Seven Lamps of Architect' 
ure, Stones of Venice, Letters in Defence of the Pre-Baphaelites, 
The Elements of Drawing, Lectures on Civilization, Lectures on 
Art, etc. He is the founder of the so-called pre-Kaphael school 
of art. His variableness of feeling has sometimes rendered 
him an unsatisfactory critic. In vindication of his habit of 
contradicting himself, he says : 

" I never met with a question yet which did not need, for the right 
solution of it, at least one positive and one negative answer, like an 
equation of the second degree. Mostly, matters of any consequence 
are three-sided, or four-sided, or polygonal ; and the trotting round a 
polygon is severe work for people any way stiff in their opinions. For 
myself, I am never satisfied that I have handled a subject properly till 
I have contradicted myself at least three times." 

In the progress of ideas so eminently observable in the nine- 
teenth century, it is not alone the march of intellect we see, 
but "the larger heart, the kindlier hand,"— the warm human 
feeling that courses through the finer veins of poetry and prose. 
Life and its purposes are regarded more earnestly, more hu- 
manely. No writers show this more than the greatest writers 
of the age, Tennyson, Mrs. Brownestg, and Dickens. 

Illustrations of the Literature of the Victorian 

Age. 

TENNYSON. 

From the Prelude to In Memoriam. 

Strong Son of God, -immortal Love V 
Whom we r that have not seen thy face, 
By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 

Believing where we cannot prove ; . 

22 



254 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Thou wilt not leave us in the dust; 
Thou madest man, he knows not why: 
He thinks he was not made to die; 

And thou hast made him : thou art just. 

Thou seemest human and divine, 
The highest, holiest manhood, thou : 
Our wills are ours, we know not how; 

Our wills are ours to make them thine. 

We have but faith : we cannot know ; 

For knowledge is of things we see; 

And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
A beam in darkness; let it grow. 

Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
But more of reverence in us dwell ; 
That mind and soul according well, 

May make one music as before, 

But vaster. We are fools and slight; 

We mock thee when we do not fear; 

But help thy foolish ones to bear; 
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. 

Forgive my grief for one removed, 
Thy creature whom I found so fair. 
I trust he lives in thee, and there 

I find him worthier to be loved. 

Forgive these wild and wandering cries, 

Confusion of a wasted youth ; 

Forgive them where they fail in truth, 
And in thy wisdom make me wise. 

From In Memoriam. 
A. H. H. 

OBIIT MDCCCXXXni. 
I. 

I held it truth, with him who sings 
To one clear harp in divers tones, 
That men may rise on stepping-stones 

Of their dead selves to higher things. 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



255 



But who shall so forecast the years 
And find in loss a gain to match? 
Or reach a hand through time to catch 

The far-off interest of tears? 

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drowned, 
Let darkness keep her raven gloss; 
Ah sweeter to be drunk with loss, 

To dance with death, to beat the ground, 

Than that the victor Hours should scorn 
The long result of love, and boast, 
"Behold the man that loved and lost, 

But all he was is overworn." 

v. 

I sometimes hold it half a sin 
To put in words the grief I feel ; 
For words, like Nature, half reveal 

And half conceal the Soul within. 

XXVII. 

I hold it true, whate'er befall ; 

I feel it when I sorrow most ; 

'Tis better to have loved and lost, 
Than never to have loved at all. 

LIY. 

O yet we trust that, somehow, good 
Will be the final goal of ill 
To pangs of nature, sins of will, 

Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; 

That nothing walks with aimless feet ; 
That not one life shall be destroyed, 
Or cast as rubbish to the void, 

When God hath made the pile complete; 

That not a worm is cloven in vain, 
That not a moth with vain desire 
Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire, 

Or but subserves another's gain. 

Behold, we know not anything ; 

I can but trust that good shall fall 

At last — far off — at last, to all, 
And every winter change to spring. 



256 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



So runs my dream : but what am I ? 

An infant crying in the night; 

An infant crying for the light ; 
And with no language but a cry. 

LXXXII. 

Nor blame I Death, because he bare 
The use of virtue out of earth : 
I know transplanted human worth 

Will bloom to profit otherwhere. 

LXXXV. 

This truth came borne with bier and pall, 
I felt it when I sorrowed most, 
'Tis better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all. 

xcvi. 

I know not : one indeed I knew 
In many a subtle question versed, 
Who touch' d a jarring lyre at first, 

But ever strode to make it true: 

Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, 
At last he beat his music out. 
There lives more faith in honest doubt, 

Believe me, than in half the creeds. 

civ. 

The time draws near the birth of Christ : 
The moon is hid, the night is still ; 
A single church below the hill 

Is pealing, folded in the mist 

A single peal of bells below, 
That wakens at this hour of rest 
A single murmur in the breast, 

That these are not the bells I know. 

Like strangers' voices here they sound, 
In lands where not a memory strays, 
Nor landmark breathes of other days, 

But all is new unhallow'd ground. 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 257 



cv. 

To-night, ungathered, let us leave 

This laurel, let this holly stand ; 

We live within the strangers' land 
And strangely falls this Christmas eve. 

cvi. 

Eing out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 

The flying cloud, the frosty light: 

The year is dying in the night ; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
Ring happy bells across the snow : 
The year is going, let him go : 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times ; 
Ring out, ring out, my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

From the Dedication of the Idylls of the Kixg to the 
Memory of the Queen's Consort, Prince Albert. 

He seems to me 

Scarce other than my own ideal knight,* 

Who reverenced his conscience as his king ; 

Whose glory was redressing human wrong ; 

Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it ; 

Who loved one only, and who clave to her — 

Her— over all whose realms to their last isle, 

Commingled with the gloom of imminent war, 

The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse, 

Darkening the world. We have lost him : he is gone ; 

We know him now : all narrow jealousies 

Are silent ; and we see him as he moved, 

How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise, 



22* 



* King Arthur. 

R 



258 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



With what sublime repression of himself, 

And in what limits, and how tenderly ; 

Not swaying to this faction or to that, 

Not making his high place the lawless perch 

Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage-ground 

For pleasure ; but through all this tract of years 

Wearing the white flower of a blameless life. 

From Idylls of the King. 

Lancelot and Elaine.* 

His honor rooted in dishonor stood, 

And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true. 

* * * -x- * # 

So when the ghostly man had come and gone, 

She with a face, bright as for sin forgiven, 

Besought Lavaine to write as she devised 

A letter, word for word ; and when he ask'd, 

" Is it for Lancelot, is it for my dear lord ? 

Then will I bear it gladly ; " she replied, 

" For Lancelot and the Queen, and all the world, 

But I myself must bear it." Then he wrote 

The letter she devised ; which, being writ 

And folded, "O sweet father, tender and true, 

Deny me not," she said, " ye never yet 

Denied my fancies — this, however strange, 

My latest : lay the letter in my hand 

A little ere I die, and close the hand 

Upon it ; I shall guard it even in death. 

And when the heat is gone from out my heart, 

Then take the little bed on which I died 

For Lancelot's love, and deck it like the Queen's 

For richness, and me also like the Queen 

In all I have of rich, and lay me on it. 

And let there be prepared a chariot-bier 

To take me to the river, and a barge 

Be ready on the river, clothed in black. 

I go in state to court, to meet the Queen. 

There surely I shall speak for mine own self, 

And none of you can speak for me so well. 



* See original story, page 39. 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



259 



And therefore let our dumb old man alone 
Go with me ; he can steer and row, and he 
Will guide me to that palace, to the doors." 

Songs from the Princess. 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story ; 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 

And the wild cataract leaps in glory ; 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle, answer echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

Oh, hark ! oh, hear ! how thin and clear, 
And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 

Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and scar 
The horns of Elf-land faintly blowing ! 

Blow ! let us hear the purple glens replying, 

Blow, bugle, answer echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in yon rich sky, 
They faint on hill, on field, on river ; 

Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
And grow forever and forever. 

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 

And answer echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

Home they brought her warrior dead : 
She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry: 

All her maidens, watching, said, 
" She must weep, or she will die." 

Then they praised him, soft and low, 
Call'd him worthy to be loved, 

Truest friend and noblest foe; 

Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place, 

Lightly to the warrior stept, 
Took the face-cloth from his face; 

Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

Eose a nurse of ninety years, 
Set his child upon her knee ; 

Like summer tempest came her tears: — 
" Sweet my child, I live for thee." 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



MRS. BROWNING. 

From De Profundis. 
i. 

The face which duly as the sun 
Rose up for me with life begun, 
To mark all bright hours of the day 
With hourly love, is dimmed away, — 
And yet my days go on, go on. 

VI. 

The past rolls forward on the sun, 
And makes all night. O dreams begun 
Not to be ended! Ended bliss, 
And life that will not end in this ! 
My days go on, my days go on. 

XXI. 

For us, — whatever 's undergone, 
Thou knowest, wiliest what is done. 
Grief may be joy misunderstood ; 
Only the Good discerns the good. 
I trust thee while my days go on. 

XXII. 

Whatever 's lost, it first was won : 

We will not struggle nor impugn. 

Perhaps the cup was broken here, 

That Heaven's new wine might show more clear. 

I praise thee while my days go on. 

XXIII. 

I praise thee while my days go on ; 

I love thee while my days go on : 

Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, 

With emptied arms and treasure lost, 

I thank thee while my days go on. 

XXIV. 

And having in thy life-depths thrown 
Being and suffering (which are one), 
As a child drops his pebble small 
Down some deep well, and hears it fall, 
Smiling — so I. Thy days go on. 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



261 



From Cotvper's Grate. 

It is a place where poets crowned 

May feel the heart's decaying — 
It is a place where happy saints 

May weep amid their praying — 
Yet let the grief and humbleness, 

As low as silence languish ; 
Earth surely now may give her calm 

To whom she gave her anguish. 

O poets ! from a maniac's tongue 

Was poured the deathless singing! 
O Christians ! at your cross of hope 

A hopeless hand was clinging ! 
O men! this man in brotherhood, 

Your weary paths beguiling, 
Groaned inly while he taught you peace, 

And died while ye were smiling. 

And now, what time ye all may read 

Through dimming tears his story — 
How discord on the music fell, 

And darkness on the glory — 
And how, when, one by one, sweet sounds 

And wandering lights departed, 
He wore no less a loving face, 

Because so broken-hearted. 

He shall be strong to sanctify 

The poet's high vocation, 
And bow the meekest Christian down 

In meeker adoration; 
Nor ever shall he be in praise 

By wise or good forsaken ; 
Named softly as the household name 

Of one whom God hath taken ! 

With sadness that is calm, not gloom, 

I learn to think upon him ; 
With meekness that is gratefulness, 

On God, whose heaven hath won him 
Who suffered once the madness-cloud 

Towards his love to bind him; 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



But gently led the blind along, 

Where breath and bird could find him; 

And wrought within his shattered brain 

Such quick poetic senses, 
As hills have language for, and stars 

Harmonious influences ! 
The pulse of dew upon the grass 

His own did calmly number ; 
And silent shadows from the trees 

Fell o'er him like a slumber. 

The very world, by God's constraint, 

From falsehood's chill removing, 
Its women and its men became 

Beside him true and loving! 
And timid hares were drawn from woods 

To share his home-caresses, 
Uplooking in his human eyes, 

With sylvan tendernesses. 

But while in darkness he remained, 

Unconscious of the guiding, 
And things provided came without 

The sweet sense of providing, 
He testified this solemn truth, 

Though frenzy desolated — 
Nor man nor nature satisfy 

Whom only God created. 

From A Vision of Poets. 
A poet could not sleep aright, 
For his soul kept up too much light 
Under his eyelids for the night. 
* * * ■* * * 

God's prophets of the Beautiful 
These poets were: .... 

Here Homer, with the broad suspense 
Of thunderous brows, and lips intense 
Of garrulous god-innocence. 

There, Shakespeare ! on whose forehead climb 
The crowns o' the world. Oh, eyes sublime, — 
With tears and laughters for all time! .... 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 263 



Here Milton's eyes strike piercing-dim: 
The shapes of suns and stars did swim 
Like clouds from them, and granted him 

God for sole vision 

* *• * * * * 
And Burns, with pungent passionings 
Set in his eyes. Deep lyric springs 
Are of the fire-mount's issuing. 

And Shelley, in his white ideal 

All statue blind. And Keats, the real 

Adonis, with the hymeneal 

Fresh vernal buds half sunk between 
His youthful curls 

And poor, proud Byron, — sad as grave, 
And salt as life : forlornly brave, 
And quivering with the dart he drave. 

And visionary Coleridge, who 

Did sweep his thoughts as angels do 

Their wings with cadence up the Blue. 

From A Musical Instrument. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan ! 

Piercing sweet by the river ! 
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! 
The sun on the hill forgot to die, 
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 

Came back to dream on the river. 

From Aurora Leigh. 

I was right upon the whole, 
That birthday morning. ; Tis impossible 
To get at men excepting through their souls, 
However open their carnivorous jaws; 
And poets get directlier at the soul 
Than any of your oeconomists : — for which, 
You must not overlook the poet's work 
When scheming for the world's necessities. 
The soul's the way. Not even Christ Himself 
Can save man else than as He holds man's soul; 



264 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



And therefore did He come into our flesh, 

As some wise hunter creeping on his knees 

With a torch, into the blackness of some cave, 

To face and quell the beast there, — take the soul, 

And so possess the whole man, body and soul. 

.... Verily, I was wrong ; 

And verily, many thinkers of this age, 

Ay, many Christian teachers, half in heaven, 

Are wrong in just my sense, who understood 

Our natural world too insularly, as if 

No spiritual counterpart completed it, 

Consummating its meaning, rounding all 

To justice and perfection, line by line, — 

Form by form, nothing single nor alone, — 

The great below clench' d by the great above ; 

Shade here authenticating substance there ; 

The body proving spirit, as the effect 

The cause. 



" Be sure, no earnest work 
Of any honest creature, howbeit weak, 
Imperfect, ill-adapted, fails so much, 
It is not gathered as a grain of sand 
To enlarge the sum of human action used 
For carrying out God's end. No creature works 
So ill, observe, that therefore he's cashiered. 
The honest, earnest man must stand and work ; 
The woman also ; otherwise she drops 
At once below the dignity of man, 
Accepting serfdom. Free men freely work : 
Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease. 
.... Let us be content, in work, 
To do the thing we can, and not presume 
To fret because it 's little." 



ROBERT BROWNING. 

The Eide from Ghent to Aix. 

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris. and he : 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; 

" Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through ; 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 285 



Behind chut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 
And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace — 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place ; 
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit; 
Nor galloped less steadily Koland a whit. 

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near 

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; 

At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 

At Duffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; 

And from Mechlen church-steeple we heard the half-chime — 

So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time ! " 

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 

And against him the cattle stood, black every one, 

To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; 

And I saw my stout galloper Koland at last, 

With resolute shoulders, each butting away 

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track ; 
And one eye's black intelligence — ever that glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ; 
And the thick, heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon 
His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. 

By Hasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay spur ! 
Your Boos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her; 
We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick wheeze 
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 
'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; 
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, 
And " Gallop ! " gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight ! 
23 



266 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



" How they '11 greet us ! " — and all in a moment his roan 
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, 

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 

Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer ; 

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise bad or good, 

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 

And all I remember is friends flocking round, 

As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; 

And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 

As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, 

Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 

Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. 

Evelyn Hope. 

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! 

Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 

She plucked that piece of geranium flower, 
Beginning to die too, in the glass. 

Little has yet been changed, I think : 
The shutters are shut, no light may pass 

Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. 

Sixteen years old when she died ! 

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; 
It was not her time to love; beside, 

Her life had many a hope and aim, 
Duties enough, and little cares, 

And now was quiet, now astir, 
Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — 

And the sweet white brow is all of her. 

Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? 

What/your soul was pure and true, 
The good stars met in your horoscope, 
Made you of spirit, fire, and dew, — 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



267 



And just because I was thrice as old, 

And our paths in the world diverge so wide, 

Each was nought to each, must I be told ? 
We were fellow-mortals, nought beside ? 

No, indeed ! for God above 

Is great to grant, as mighty to make, 
And creates the love to reward the love : 

I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! 
Delayed it may be for more lives yet, 

Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few : 
Much is to learn and much to forget 

Ere the time be come for taking you. 

But the time will come, — at last it will, 

When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, 
In the lower earth, in the years long still, 

That body and soul so pure and gay? 
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, 

And your mouth of your own geranium's red — 
And what you would do with me, in fine, 

In the new life come in the old one's stead. 

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, 

Given up myself so many times, 
Gained me the gains of various men, 

Eansacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; 
Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, 

Either I missed or itself missed me — 
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 

What is the issue ? let us see ! 

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ! 

My heart seemed full as it could hold — 
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile 

And the red young mouth and the hair's young gold. 
So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to keep — 

See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. 
There, that is our secret ! go to sleep ; 

You will wake, and remember, and understand. 

From Pippa Passes. 
If I only knew 

What was my mother's face;— my father, too! 



268 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Nay, if you come to that, best love of all 

Is God's ; then why not have God's love befall 

Myself as, in the palace by the Dome, 

Monsignor ? — who to-night will bless the home 

Of his dead brother; and God will bless in turn 

That heart which beats, those eyes which mildly burn 

With love for all men : I, to-night, at least, 

Would be that holy and beloved priest ! 

Now wait ! Even I already seem to share 

In God's love : what does New Year's hymn declare 

What other meaning do these verses bear? 

All service ranks the same with God: 
If now, as formerly. He trod 
Paradise, His presence fills 
— Our earth, each only as God wills, 

Can work, — God's puppets best and worst 
Are we; there is no last nor first. 

Say not " a small event " / why " small " / 
Costs it more pain than this, ye call 
A "great event" should come to pass, 
Than that? Untwine me from the mass 
Of deeds which make up life, one deed 
Power shall fall short in, or exceed/ 

And more of it and more of it ! oh, yes — 
I will pass by, and see their happiness, 
And envy none — being just as great, no doubt, 
Useful to men, and dear to God, as they ! 

A pretty thing to care about 
So mightily, this single holiday ! 

But let the sun shine! Wherefore repine? 
With thee to lead me, O Day of mine, 
Down the grass-path gray with dew, 
Under the pine-wood blind with boughs, 

Where the swallow never flew 
As yet, nor cicale dared carouse — 
Dared carouse! 

From Garden Fancies. 

" Here 's the garden she walked across, 

Arm in my arm, such a short while since : 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 269 



Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss 
Hinders the hinges and makes them wince! 

She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, 
As back with that murmur the wicket swung; 

For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned, 
To feed and forget it the leaves among. 

" This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, 

Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim ; 
Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, 

Its soft meandering Spanish name. 
What a name ! was it love, or praise, 

Speech half-asleep, or song half-awake? 
I must learn Spanish, one of these days, 

Only for that slow sweet name's sake. ,, 

CHARLES DICKENS. 

From Nicholas Nickleby. 

" It is a sad thing," said Tim Linkinwater, breaking off, " to see a 
little deformed child sitting apart from other children, who are active 
and merry, watching the games he is denied the power to share in. 
He made my heart ache very often." 

"It is a good heart," said Nicholas, "that disentangles itself from the 
close avocations of every day, to heed such things. You were say- 
ing " 

" That the flowers belonged to this poor boy," said Tim ; " that 's all. 
When it is fine weather, and he can crawl out of bed, he draws a chair 
close to the window, and sits there looking at them and arranging them 
all day long. We used to nod at first, and then we came to speak. 
Formerly, when I called to him of a morning, and asked him how he 
was, he would smile and say, ' Better ; ' but now he shakes his head, 
and only bends more closely over his old plants. It must be dull to 
watch the dark house-tops and the flying clouds for so many months ; 
but he is very patient." 

" Is there nobody in the house to cheer or help him ? " asked Nich- 
olas. 

" His father lives there, I believe," replied Tim, " and other people 
too ; but no one seems to care much for the poor sickly cripple. I have 
asked him very often if I can do nothing for him : his answer is always 
the same, — ' Nothing.' His voice has grown weak of late ; but I can 
23* 



270 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



see that he makes the old reply. He can't leave his bed now, so they 
have moved it close beside the window ; and there he lies all day, now 
looking at the sky, and now at his flowers, which he still makes shift to 
trim and water with his own thin hands. At night, when he sees my 
candle, he draws back his curtain, and leaves it so till I am in bed. It 
seems such company to him to know that I am there, that I often sit at 
my window for an hour or more, that he may see I am still awake ; and 
sometimes I get up in the night to look at the dull, melancholy light in 
his little room, and wonder whether he is awake or sleeping. 

" The night will not be long coming," said Tim, " when he will sleep 
and never wake again on earth. We have never so much as shaken 
hands in all our lives ; and yet I shall miss him like an old friend. 
Are there any country flowers that could interest me like these, do you 
think?" 

With which inquiry, Tim turned his back, and, pretending to be 
absorbed in his accounts, took an opportunity of hastily wiping his 
eyes, when he supposed Nicholas was looking another way. 

From Christmas Stories (The Chimes). 

The night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round a 
building of that sort, and moaning as it goes ; and of trying with its 
unseen hand the windows and the doors ; and when it has got in, as one 
not finding what it seeks, whatever that may be, it wails and howls to 
issue forth again ; and not content with stalking through the aisles, and 
gliding round and round the pillars, and tempting the deep organ, soars 
up to the roof, and strives to rend the rafters : then flings itself despair- 
ingly upon the stones below, and passes, muttering, into the vaults. 
Anon, it comes up stealthily, and creeps along the walls, seeming to 
read, in whispers, the inscriptions sacred to the dead. At some of these 
it bursts out shrilly, as with laughter ; and at others it moans and cries 
as if lamenting. Ugh ! Heaven preserve us, sitting snugly round the 
fire ! It has an awful voice, that wind at midnight, singing in the 
church ! 

* * ******** 

For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's belief. I take my 
stand by Toby, although he did stand all day long (and weary work it 
was) just outside the church door. In fact, he was a ticket-porter, Toby 
Veck, and waited there for jobs. . . . The wind came tearing round 
the corner, — especially the east wind, — as if it had sallied forth, express, 
from the confines of the earth, to have a blow at Toby. And oftentimes, 
it seemed to come upon him sooner than it had expected, for bouncing 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



271 



round the corner, and passing Toby, it would suddenly wheel round 
again, as if it said, " Why here he is." 

* * * ******* 
" There 's nothing," said Toby, " more regular in its coming round 

than dinner-time, and nothing less regular in its coming round than 
dinner. That 's the great difference between 'em." 

* * * * * * * * * * 
" Why, bless you, my dear," said Toby, " how often have I heard 

them bells say, 1 Toby Veck, Toby Yeck, keep a good heart, Toby ! 
Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart, Toby ! ' 

" When things is very bad, very bad indeed, I mean ; almost at the 
worst ; then it 's ' Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby ! 
Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby !' That way." 

" And it comes at last, father," said Meg, with a touch of sadness in 
her pleasant voice. 

"Always," answered Toby. " Never fails." 

From The Old Curiosity Shop. 

She* died soon after daybreak. They had read and talked to her in 
the earlier portion of the night ; but, as the hours crept on, she sunk 
to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly uttered in her dreams, 
that they were of her journey ings with the old man: they were of no 
painful scenes, but of those who had helped and used them kindly ; for 
she often said, " God bless you ! " with great fervor. Waking, she never 
wandered in her mind but once, and that was at beautiful music which 
she said was in the air. God knows. It may have been. 

Opening her eyes at last, from a very quiet sleep, she begged that 
they would kiss her once again. That done, she turned to the old man 
with a lovely smile upon her face, — such, they said as they had never 
seen, and never could forget, — and clung with both her arms about his 
neck. They did not know that she was dead, at first. 

She had never murmured or complained, but, with a quiet mind, and 
manner quite unaltered, — save that she every day became more earnest 
and more grateful to them, — faded like the light upon a summer's 
evening. 

The child who had been her little friend came there almost as soon 
as it was day, with an offering of dried flowers which he begged them 
to lay upon her breast. It was he who had come to the window over- 
night and spoken to the sexton ; and they saw in the snow traces of 



* Little NelL 



272 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



small feet, where he had been lingering near the room in which she 
lay before he went to bed. He had a fancy, it seemed, that they had 
left her there alone ; and could not bear the thought. 

He told them of his dream again, and that it was of her being restored 
to them, just as she used to be. He begged hard to see her, saying that 
he w T ould be very quiet, and that they need not fear his being alarmed, 
for he had sat alone by his young brother all day long, when he was 
dead, and had felt glad to be so near him. They let him have his 
wish ; and, indeed, he kept his word, and was in his childish way a 
lesson to them all. 

Up to that time the old man had not spoken once, — except to her, — 
or stirred from the bedside. But when he saw her little favorite, he 
was moved as they had not seen him yet, and made as though he would 
have him come nearer. Then, pointing to the bed, he burst into tears 
for the first time ; and they who stood by, knowing that the sight of 
this child had done him good, left them alone together. 

Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the child persuaded him 
to take some rest, to walk abroad, to do almost as he desired him. And 
when the day came on which they must remove her in her earthly 
shape from earthly eyes forever, he led him away, that he might not 
know when she was taken from him. They were to gather fresh leaves 
and berries for her bed. 

And now the bell — the bell she had so often heard by night and day, 
and listened to with solemn pleasure almost as a living voice — rung its 
remorseless toll for her, so young, so beautiful, so good. Decrepit age, 
and vigorous life, and blooming youth, and helpless infancy, poured 
forth — on crutches, in the pride of strength and health, in the full blush 
of promise, in the mere dawn of life — to gather round her tomb. Old 
men were there, whose eyes were dim and senses failing, — grand- 
mothers, who might have died ten years ago, and still been old, — the 
deaf, the blind, the lame, the palsied, the living dead in many shapes 
and forms, — to see the closing of that early grave. 

Along the crowded path they bore her now, — pure as the newly-fallen 
snow that covered it, — whose day on earth had been as fleeting. Under 
that porch, where she had sat when Heaven in its mercy brought her 
to that peaceful spot, she passed again, and the old church received her 
in its quiet shade. 

They carried her to one old nook, where she had many and many a 
time sat musing, and laid their burden softly on the pavement. The 
light streamed on it through the colored window — a window where the 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



273 



boughs of trees were ever rustling in the summer, and where the birds 
sang sweetly all day long. With every breath of air that stirred among 
those branches in the sunshine, some trembling, changing light would 
fall upon her grave. 

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Many a young hand 
dropped in its little wreath, many a stifled sob was heard. Some — and 
they were not a few — knelt down. All were sincere and truthful in 
their sorrow. 

The service done, the mourners stood apart, and the villagers closed 
round to look into the grave before the pavement-stone should be re- 
placed. One called to mind how he had seen her sitting on that very 
spot, and how her book had fallen on her lap, and she was gazing with 
a pensive face upon the sky. Another told how he had wondered much 
that one so delicate as she should be so bold ; how she had never feared 
to enter the church alone at night, but had loved to linger there when 
all was quiet ; and even to climb the tower-stair, with no more light 
than that of the moon-rays stealing through the loop-holes in the thick 
old wall. A whisper went about among the oldest there that she had 
seen and talked with angels ; and when they called to mind how she 
had looked and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might be 
so indeed. Thus, coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing 
down, and giving place to others, and falling off in whispering groups 
of three or four, the church was cleared in time of all but the sexton 
and the mourning friends. 

They saw the vault covered and the stone fixed down. Then, when 
the dusk of evening had come on, and not a sound disturbed the sacred 
stillness of the place, — when the bright moon poured in her light on 
tomb and monument, on pillar, wall, and arch, and, most of all (it 
seemed to them) upon her quiet grave, — in that calm time, when all 
outward things and inward thoughts teem with assurances of immor- 
tality, and worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before 
them, — then with tranquil and submissive hearts they turned away, 
and left the child with God. 

From Dombey and Son. 

" Now lay me down," he said ; " and, Floy, come close to me and let 
me see you ! " Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, 
and the golden light came streaming in and fell upon them, locked 
together. " How fast the river runs between its green banks and the 
rushes, Floy ! But it 's very near the sea. I hear the waves ! They 
always said so." Presently he told her that the motion of the boat 

8 



274 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



upon the stream was lulling him to rest. How green the banks were 
now ! how bright the flowers growing on them ! and how tall the 
rushes ! Now the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on ; and 
now there was a shore before them. Who stood on the bank ? He put 
his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He did 
not remove his arms to do it ; but they saw him fold them so, behind 
her neck. " Mamma is like you, Floy : I know her by her face ! But 
tell them that the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. 
The light about the head is shining on me as I go ! " 

The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else 
stirred in the room. The old, old fashion ! The fashion that came in 
with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run 
its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, 
old fashion, — Death ! Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older 
fashion yet, of Immortality ! And look upon us, angels of young chil- 
dren, with regards not quite estranged when the swift river bears us to 
the ocean ! 

THACKERAY. 

Last Days of George III. 

All the world knows the story of his malady ; all history presents 
no sadder figure than that of the old man, blind and deprived of reason, 
wandering through the rooms of his palace, addressing imaginary Par- 
liaments, reviewing fancied troops, holding ghostly courts. I have seen 
his picture as it was taken at this time, hanging in the apartment of his 
daughter, the Landgravine of Hesse-Hombourg, — amidst books and 
Windsor furniture, and a hundred fond reminiscences of her English 
home. The poor old father is represented in a purple gown, his snowy 
beard falling over his breast, — the star of his famous Order still idly 
shining on it. He was not only sightless — he became utterly deaf. All 
light, all reason, all sound of human voices, all the pleasures of this 
world of God, were taken from him. Some slight lucid moments he 
had ; in one of which the queen, desiring to see him, entered the room, 
and found him singing a hymn and accompanying himself at the harp- 
sichord. When he had finished, he knelt down and prayed aloud for 
her, and then for his family, and then for the nation, concluding with 
a prayer for himself, that it might please God to avert his heavy 
calamity from him, but, if not, to give him resignation to submit. He 
then burst into tears, and his reason again fled. 

What preacher need moralize on this story? what words save the 
simplest are requisite to tell it? It is too terrible for tears. The 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 



275 



thought of such a misery smites me down in submission before the 
Ruler of kings and men, the Monarch Supreme over empires and re- 
publics, the inscrutable Dispenser of life, death, happiness, victory. 
"O brothers!" I said to those who heard me first in America, — "O 
brothers! speaking the same dear mother tongue; O comrades! ene- 
mies no more, let us take a mournful hand together as we stand by this 
royal corpse, and call a truce to battle ! Low he lies to whom the 
proudest used to kneel once, and who was cast lower than the poorest : 
dead, whom millions prayed for in vain. Driven off his throne ; buf- 
feted by rude hands ; with his children in revolt ; the darling of his 
old age killed before him untimely ; our Lear hangs over her breath- 
less lips, and cries, 4 Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little ! ' 

' Vex not his ghost — oh ! let him pass — he hates him 
That would upon the rack of this tough world 
Stretch him out longer!' 

Hush ! Strife and Quarrel, over the solemn grave ! Sound, Trumpets, 
a mournful march ! Fall, Dark Curtain, upon his pageant, his pride, 
his grief, his awful tragedy ! " 

"GEORGE ELIOT." 

From Adam Bede. 

"As for other things, I dare say she is like the rest o' the women — 
thinks two and two' 11 come to five, if she cries and bothers enough 
about it," said Bartle. 

"Ay, ay!" said Mrs. Poyser, "one 'ud think an' hear some folk 
talk, as the men was 'cute enough to count the corns in a bag o' wheat 
wi' only smelling at it. They can see through a barn-door, they can. 
Perhaps that's the reason they can see so little o' this side on't." 

"Ah," said Bartle, sneeringly, "the women are quick enough — 
they 're quick enough. They know the rights of a story before they 
near it, and can tell a man what his thoughts are before he knows 
'em himself." 

" Like enough," said Mrs. Poyser ; " for the men are mostly so slow 
their thoughts overrun 'em, an' they can only catch 'em by the tail. I 
can count a stocking-top while a man 's getting his tongue ready ; an' 
when he out wi' his speech at last, there's little broth to be made on't. 
It's your dead chicks take the longest hatchin'. Howiver, I'm not 
deny in' the women are foolish ; God Almighty made 'em to match the 
men." 



276 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



From MlDDLEMARCH. 

Mary was in a grassy corner of the garden, where there was a swing 
loftily hung between two pear-trees. She had a pink kerchief tied 
over her head, making a little poke to shade her eyes from the level 
sunbeams, while she was giving a glorious swing to Letty, who laughed 
and screamed wildly. Seeing her father, Mary left the swing and went 
to meet him, pushing back the pink kerchief and smiling afar off at 
him with the involuntary smile of loving pleasure. 

" I came to look for you, Mary," said Mr. Garth. " Let us w r alk 
about a bit." 

Mary knew quite well that her father had something particular to 
say. His eyebrows made their pathetic angle, and there was a tender 
gravity in his voice : these things had been signs to her when she w 7 as 
Letty's age. She put her arm within his, and they turned by the row 
of nut-trees. 

" It will be a sad while before you can be married, Mary," said her 
father, not looking at her, but at the end of the stick w T hich he held in 
his other hand. 

" Not a sad while, father — I mean to be merry," said Mary, laughingly. 
" I have been single and merry for four and twenty years and more. I 
suppose it will not be quite as long again as that." Then, after a little 
pause, she said, more gravely, bending her face before her father's, " If 
you are contented with Fred?" Caleb screwed up his mouth and 
turned his head aside wisely. 

" Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You said he had 
an uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye for things." 

" Did I?" said Caleb, rather slyly. 

" Yes ; I put it all down, and the date, Anno Domini, and every 
thing," said Mary. "You like things to be neatly booked. And then 
his behavior to you, father, is really good— he has a deep respect for 
you ; and it is impossible to have a better temper than Fred has." 

" Ay, ay — you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match." 

" No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match." 

" What for then?" 

" Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like 
scolding any one else so well ; and that is a point to be thought of in a 
husband." 

" Your mind is quite settled, then, Mary ? " said Caleb, returning to 
his first tone. " There 's no other wish come into it since things have 



LITERATURE OF THE VICTORIAN AGE. 277 



been going on as they have been of late? (Caleb meant a good deal in 
that vague phrase ;) because better late than never. A woman must n't 
force her heart — she '11 do a man no good by that." 

"My feelings have not changed, father," said Mary, calmly. "I 
shall be constant to Fred as long as he is constant to me. I don't think 
either of us could spare the other, or like any one else better, however 
much we might admire them. It would make too great a difference to us 
— like seeing all the old places altered, and changing the name for every- 
thing. We must wait for each other a long while ; but Fred knows that." 

Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb stood still and screwed his 
stick on the grassy walk. Then he said, with emotion in his voice, 
" Well, I 've got a bit of news. What do you think of Fred going to 
live at Stone Court, and managing the land there ? " 

" How can that ever be, father ? " said Mary, wonderingly. 

" He would manage it for his aunt Bulstrode. The poor woman has 
been to me begging and praying. She wants to do the lad good, and it 
might be a fine thing for him. With saving, he might gradually buy 
the stock, and he has a turn for farming." 

" Oh, Fred would be so happy ! It is too good to believe." 

" Ah ! but mind you," said Caleb, turning his head warningly, " I 
must take it on my shoulders, and be responsible, and see after every- 
thing — and that will grieve your mother a bit, though she may n't say 
so. Fred had need be careful." 

" Perhaps it is too much, father," said Mary, checked in her joy. 
" There would be no happiness in bringing you any fresh trouble." 

" Nay, nay — work is my delight, child, when it does n't vex your 
mother. And then, if you and Fred get married," here Caleb's voice 
shook just perceptibly, " he'll be steady and saving ; and you've got your 
mother's cleverness, and mine too, in a woman's sort of way ; and you '11 
keep him in order. He'll be coming by-and-by, so I wanted to tell you 
first, because I think you 'd like to tell him by yourselves. After that, I 
could talk it well over with him, and we could go into business and the 
nature of things." 

Comprehensive talkers are apt to be tiresome when we are not athirst 
for information ; but, to be quite fair, we must admit that superior reti- 
cence is a good deal due to lack of matter. Speech is often barren ; but 
silence also does not necessarily brood over a full nest. Your still fowl, 
blinking at you without remark, may all the while be sitting on one 
addled nest-egg. And when it takes to cackling, will have nothing to 
announce but that addled delusion. 
24 



278 HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



Oh, the anguish of that thought that we can never atone to our dead 
for the stinted affection we gave them ; for the light answers we re- 
turned to their plaints or their pleadings ; for the little reverence we 
showed to that sacred human soul that lived so close to us, and was the 
divinest thing God has given us to know. 

PROFESSOR HUXLEY. 

Men of science do not pledge themselves to creeds ; they are bound 
by articles of no sort ; there is not a single belief that it is not a bounden 
duty with them to hold with a light hand, and to part with it cheer- 
fully the moment it is really proved to be contrary to any fact, great or 
small. 

PROFESSOR TYNDALL. 

From Address Delivered at Belfast in 1874. 

The rigidity of old conceptions has been relaxed, the public mind 
being rendered gradually tolerant of the idea that not for six thousand, 
nor for sixty thousand, nor for six thousand thousand, but for aeons 
embracing untold millions of years, this earth has been the theatre of 
life and death. The riddle of the rocks has been read by the geologist 
and palaeontologist, from sub-cambrian depths to the deposits thickening 
over the sea-bottoms of to-day. And upon the leaves of that stone book 
are, as you know, stamped the characters plainer and surer than those 
formed by the ink of history. 

00 ^00 

Syllabus. 

Among the Victorian poets, Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, and Robert Brown- 
ing hold the highest rank. Robert Browning is essentially a dramatist. 

Of the novelists of the time, Dickens, Thackeray, and " George Eliot" 
are most prominent. 

The greatest scientists are Darwin, Huxley, Tyndall, Owen, and Wallace. 
A new era in the literature of science began with Darwin's Origin qf the 
Species. 

Historians have begun to treat history in a philosophic manner, noting 
the march of intellect, and seeing in isolated events connecting links of 
causes. 

Among miscellaneous writers, John Ruskin is one of the most prominent. 
As a writer upon art he has stood preeminent. 

Those who, perhaps, have influenced the age most in culture of the heart 
and brain are Dickens, Tennyson, and Mrs. Browning. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



American Literature. 

The First or Colonial Period. 

1620-1775. 

AMERICAN Literature, unlike that of any other nation, 
has no traditional ancestry. No epic poem, with the feats 
of fabulous heroes, has come down to us as an inheritance from 
American ancestors. All is clear, definite, and sharply out- 
lined. We have a history, but no traditions. It is the fast- 
decaying aborigines who have their legendary Hiawatha, 
Mudgekeewis, Minnehaha, and Nokomis. The English tongue 
on American soil has given utterance to the beautiful Indian 
legend. The only myths and traditions that we can claim had 
their origin in the earliest English tongue, in the earliest home 
of the English people. Ours is the old poem of Beowulf, sung 
more than a thousand years ago in Angle-land and Saxe-land, 
and afterwards repeated by our Anglo-Saxon forefathers in 
England, the home of their adoption. Every other nation 
has had its early epic, or early lyrical or allegorical poem. 
But noble lives are grander than epic poems, and the deeds 
of a valiant ancestry are more glorious than their written 
thoughts. 

Theology and not mythology occupied the minds of our 
American forefathers, and our literary inheritance from them 
is prose. Religious persecution having driven to the unpreju- 
diced shores of this wild country those who found no freedom 

279 



280 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



at home to worship God as they found fitting, religion must of 
necessity be the theme of their discourse, spoken or written. 

But theology was a germ transplanted and scarcely modified 
or affected by the new soil. The literature became American 
when thoughts and feelings became American — when thoughts 
of independence sprang into American hearts, and the great 
principles of civil government and liberty were discussed. 

Engrossed as our ancestors were in the one subject that 
drove them from their native shore, they gave thought and 
time to the future needs of the young republic, and early be- 
gan to build schools and colleges. Almost before the wilderness 
became to them a home, Harvard College was endowed, and 
before 1767 no less than seven colleges had sprung into exist- 
ence. The first printing-press in America was at Harvard Col- 
lege. The first book printed in America was the Bay Psalm 
Boole, Cambridge, 1640. 

It will be interesting to the student who has carefully fol- 
lowed these pages to recall contemporary incidents and charac- 
ters in the mother country, — to remember that while the germ 
of freedom was springing up on American soil, that apostle of 
freedom, John Milton, was wielding his pen in its behalf in 
England, — that with the establishment of the first printing- 
press in America, Milton was pleading for the liberty of the 
press. * 

Richard, Increase, and Cotton Mather bore prominent 
parts in the history and literature of the young colony. The 
name of Cotton Mather (1663-1728) has descended to this 
generation associated with the darkest superstition of his time. 
In common with other of the wisest men of his times, he fully 
believed in witchcraft, and with characteristic zeal justified 
the wholesale execution of witches at Salem. And yet, such 
strange contradictions possess men's natures, this same perse- 
cutor of innocent human beings was a devoted friend to the 
Indian, to prisoners, and to other oppressed and suffering 
humanity. His most important work was Magnolia Christi 
Americana, which, while purporting to be an ecclesiastical 
history of New England from 1620 to 1698, includes much 



* For contemporaries seen at a glance, see Trimble's Chart of General Literature. 



LITERATURE OF COLONIAL TIMES. 281 



history of the country, its people, and events of interest. The 
pen portraits contained in this work are highly valued. Other 
works of Cotton Mather's are Memorable Providences Relating to 
Witchcraft, The Wonders of the Invisible World, being an Account 
of the Trial of Several Witches, etc. 

The poetic spirit was not wholly wanting in the young colony, 
at least the gift of rhyming existed. Axxe Bradstreet (1612- 
1072) was called the " Tenth Muse." She is regarded as Amer- 
ica's first poetess. Our literary ancestors indulged in copious 
titles to their works. The title of Anne Bradstreet's volume 
of poetry is as follows : 

" Severed poems, Compiled with great Variety of Wit and Learn- 
ing, full of Delight; wherein especially is contained a Complete 
Discourse and Description of the Four Elements, Constitutions, 
Ages of Moons and Seasons of the Year, together with an Exact 
Epitome of the Three First Monarchies, viz. : the Assyrian, Persian, 
and Grecian; and the Beginning oftheBoman Commonwealth to 
the end of their last King; ivith Divers Other Pleasant and Serious 
Poems: By a Gentlewoman of New England." 

The most prominent writer of this period was Jonathan 
Edwards (1703-1758), known on both continents as one of the 
greatest of metaphysicians. He was contemporary with the 
great inquirers — skeptics — Hume and Yoltaire. But the mind 
of Jonathan Edwards entertained no doubts. Entering into 
the most abstruse speculations in metaphysics, he yet main- 
tained his orthodoxical views on religion, and wrote on The 
Doctrine of Original Sin, The End, for which God Created the 
World, The History of Bedemption, etc. His great work is On 
the Freedom of the Will. 

Illustrations of the Literature of Colonial Times. 

From the Bay Psalm Book. 
Psalm cxxxvii. 

The rivers on of Babilon, 

There when wee did sit downe, 
Yea, even then, wee mourned when 

Wee remembered Sion. 

24* 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Our harp wee did hang it amid, 

Upon the willow tree, 
Because there they that us away 

Led in captivitee, 

Eequir'd of us a song, and thus 
Askt mirth us waste who laid, 

Sing us among a Sion's song, 
Unto us then they said. 

The Lord's song sing, can wee, being 
In stranger's land? then let 

Lose her skill my right hand if I 
Jerusalem forget. 

Let cleave my tongue my pallate on 

If mind thee doe not I, 
If chiefe joyes o'er I prize not more 

Jerusalem my joy. 



From The New England Primer. 



In Adam's fall, 
We sinned all. 

My Book and Heart 
Must never part. 

Young Obadias, 
David, Josias, — 
All were pious. 

Peter denied 

His Lord, and cried. 



Young Timothy 
Learnt sin to fly. 

Xerxes did die, 
And so must I. 

Zaccheus he 

Did climb the tree 

Our Lord to see. 



ANNE BRADSTREET. 

From The Prologue to "The Four Elements.' 

I am obnoxious to each carping tongue 
That says my hand a needle better fits: 

A Poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong, 
For such despite they cast on female wits ; 

If what I do prove well, it won't advance — 

They '11 say, It 's stolen, or else it was by chance. 



LITERATURE OF COLONIAL TIMES. 



283 



JONATHAN EDWARDS. 

From The Freedom of the Will. 

If the Win, which we find governs the members of the body, and 
determines their motions, does not govern itself, and determine its own 
actions, it doubtless determines them the same way, even by antecedent 
volitions. The Will determines which way the hands and feet shall 
move, by an act of choice : and there is no other way of the Will's 
determining, directing, or commanding anything at all. Whatsoever 
the Will commands, it commands by an act of the Will. And if it has 
itself under its command, and determines itself in its own actions, it 
doubtless does it in the same way that it determines other things which 
are under its command. So that if the freedom of the Will consists in 
this, that it has itself and its own actions under its command and direc- 
tion, and its own volitions are determined by itself, it will follow, that 
every free volition arises from another antecedent volition, directing 
and commanding that : and if that directing volition be also free, in that 
also the Will is determined : that is to say, that directing volition is 
determined by another going before that ; and so on, till we come to the 
first volition in the whole series : and if that first volition be free, and 
the Will self-determined in it, then that is determined by another voli- 
tion preceding that. Which is a contradiction ; because by the suppo- 
sition it can have none before it, to direct or determine it, being the first 
in the train. But if that first volition is not determined by any preced- 
ing act of the Will, then that act is not determined by the Will, and so 
is not free in the Arminian notion of freedom, which consists in the 
Will's self-determination. And if that first act of the Will which deter- 
mines and fixes the subsequent acts be not free, none of the following 
acts, which are determined by it, can be free. If we suppose there are 
five acts in the train, the fifth and last determined by the fourth, and 
the fourth by the third, the third by the second, and the second by the 
first ; if the first is not determined by the Will, and so not free, then 
none of them are truly determined by the Will : that is, that each of them 
are as they are, and not otherwise, is not first owing to the Will, but .to 
the determination of the first in the series, which is not dependent on 
the Will, and is that which the Will has no hand in determining. And 
this being that which decides what the rest shall be, and determines 
their existence ; therefore the first determination of their existence is 
not from the Will. The case is just the same if, instead of a chain of 
five acts of the Will, we should suppose a succession of ten, or an hun- 
dred, or ten thousand. If the first act be not free, being determined by 



284 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



something out of the Will, and this determines the next to be agreeable 
to itself, and that the next, and so on ; none of them are free, but all 
originally depend on, and are determined by, some cause out of the Will ; 
and so all freedom in the case is excluded, and no act of the Will can 
be free, according to this notion of freedom. Thus, this Arminian notion 
of Liberty of the Will, consisting in the Will's Self-determination, is 
repugnant to itself, and shuts itself wholly out of the world. 

Syllabus. 

The literature of America is unlike that of every other nation, in not 
having its origin in poetry. We have a history, but no traditional myths. 
Theology instead of poetry was the first feature in American literature. 

One of the first cares of the colonists was to plant institutions of learn- 
ing. Harvard College was founded in 1638. Seven colleges had sprung 
up before 1767. The first printing-press was established at Harvard Col- 
lege. The first book printed in America was the Bay Psalm Book, Cam- 
bridge, 1640. 

At this time John Milton was pleading for the liberty of the press in 
England. 

Cotton Mather was among the prominent theologians of the earliest colo- 
nial times. 

Jonathan Edwards was by far the most prominent writer of the time, 
and was considered one of the greatest metaphysicians of the age. His 
principal work is On the Freedom of the Will. 




FRANKLIN. 



CHAPTER XV. 
The Revolutionary Period. 

1775—1800. 

AMEEICAN Literature may be said to have sprung into 
existence with the oratory of Patrick Henry and James 
Otis ; with the speeches and letters of the elder Adams, Wash- 
ington, Hamilton, Jefferson, Jay, Madison, and other patriots 
of the Eevolution. The literature of this period was as dis- 
tinctly political as it was theological in the age preceding. 

Oratory, the literature of republics, has seldom had such rep- 
resentatives as this country has afforded. But the literature of 
oratory is more or less ephemeral in its nature, and orations, 
if they are handed down to us at all, lack the eloquence of 
eye and voice and gesture that breathed inspiring life to the 
speaker's words. Some of the grandest oratorical efforts were 
never recorded.* 

James Otis (1725-1783) was one of the ablest orators and 
firmest patriots of the Eevolution. Of his first great speech, 
made in 1761, John Adams says, " American independence was 
then and there born." Patrick Henry (1736-1799), of Vir- 
ginia, with his tongue of flame kindled his hearers with the 
enthusiasm for liberty, and Fisher Ames (1758-1808) was one 
of the purest patriots and finest orators of the age. 



* This age of oratory in America had its counterpart in English politics. Contem- 
porary with Patrick Henry, James Otis, Adams, and Jefferson in America, were Pitt, 
Burke, Fox, and Sheridan in England, 

285 



286 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



The greatest name in the literature of this time is that of 
Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), famous equally in politics, 
science, and literature.* Franklin was a lad of thirteen when 
Addison died, but to the reading of Addison's Spectator he 
attributed some of his earliest impulses in writing. Ambitious 
of acquiring knowledge, he soon accustomed himself to habits 
of study. Leaving his brother's printing-office in Boston, he 
set out for Philadelphia, where, after working for some time as 
a printer, he bought, in 1730, the " Pennsylvania Gazette," 
which had been established two years before. As editor of 
this journal he exerted his influence in politics, literature, and 
society. The next year he started the Philadelphia Library, 
and soon after the American Philosophical Society. The Uni- 
versity of Pennsylvania also owes its origin to him. 

He was at this time interested in making those philosophical 
experiments for which he became famous, but alive to public 
interests and human needs, he gave his time, talents, and money 
to every benevolent scheme. In 1757 he was appointed Post- 
master-General, and the same year received from Harvard and 
Yale Colleges the honorary title of Master of Arts. He had 
previously been elected a Fellow of the Koyal Society, London. 

Several times he was sent by the colonies to London as me- 
diator with the mother^country, and in 1766, aided by the great 
English statesman, William Pitt, he secured the repeal of the 
Stamp Act.f In 1775 he was elected a member of the Conti- 
nental Congress, then sitting in Philadelphia, and the next 



* Dr. Johnson was at this time the great name in English literature. It will be 
remembered, however, that he felt no sympathy with Americans in their separation 
from England. 

f"In order to obtain fuller and more accurate information respecting America, 
the party in opposition to the ministry proposed that Franklin should be interro- 
gated publicly before the House of Commons. Accordingly, on the third of Febru- 
ary, 1766, he was summoned to the box of the House for that purpose. The dignity 
of his personal appearance, and the calmness of his demeanor, equally unmoved by 
the illusions, and undismayed by the insolence of power, added not a little to make 
the whole scene highly imposing, and, indeed, morally sublime — to see a solitary 
representative, from the then infant colonies, standing alone amid the concentrated 
pomp and pageantry, the nobility and the learning, of the mightiest kingdom of the 
earth, with the eyes of all gazing upon him, and acquitting himself so nobly as to 
call down the plaudits of his enemies. The result might have been anticipated ; for 
such was the impression he made upon Parliament, that the Stamp Act was re- 
pealed." 



THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 



287 



year he helped to draft the Declaration of Independence. After 
signing the Declaration, he was appointed Minister Plenipo- 
tentiary to France. In 1785 he was made Governor of Penn- 
sylvania, and elected to the Federal Convention of 1787 for 
framing the Constitution of the United States. 

The writings of Franklin fill ten octavo volumes. They con- 
sist of papers on Electricity and other Scientific and Philosoph- 
ical Subjects, Essays on 3Ioral and Religious Subjects, and on 
Politics, Commerce, and, Political Economy. 

While engaged in editing the " Pennsylvania Gazette," 
Franklin began the publication of Poor Richard's Almanac, 
which was continued for twenty-five years. " Richard Saun- 
ders, Philomath," was the professed author. This almanac 
was famous for its collection of wise maxims, mainly inculcat- 
ing habits of prudence and economy. So popular was "Poor 
Richard's Almanac," that the annual sale was about ten thou- 
sand copies. 

The Federalist was a publication of national importance at 
this time. It was a series of papers written by Alexander 
Hamilton, James Madison, and Johx Jay, over the common 
signature of "Publius." It was the result of disputes and dis- 
satisfaction arising from the adoption of the Constitution by 
the Federal Convention in 1787, and its object was to show the 
colonists the advantage of the measure, and to instruct them 
in the elementary principles of government. 

Alexander Hamilton (1757-1804) was born in the West 
Indies, on the island of Xevis. At the age of sixteen he was 
sent to New York, and entered Columbia College. Before his 
collegiate course ended, he wrote a series of Essays on the 
Rights of the Colonies, and addressed public assemblies on the 
subject of national independence. He was one of the three 
delegates from Xew York to the Federal Convention. " There 
is not," says Guizot,* " one element of order, strength, or 
durability in the Constitution which he did not powerfully con- 
tribute to introduce, and cause to be adopted." Of the eighty- 
five numbers of the Federalist^ he wrote sixty-three. 



* Francois Pierre Guillaurae Guizot (1787-1874), an eminent French statesman and 
historian. 



288 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



The tragic death of this warm patriot is too well known. 
Duelling at that day was regarded as the principal means of 
deciding a " question of honor ; " and " satisfaction " being de- 
manded of him by Aaron Burr, then Vice-President of the 
United States, for some real or supposed expressions derogatory 
to Burr's character, Hamilton accepted the challenge, and was 
mortally wounded. For such a loss by such means there are 
no compensating or consoling reflections. 

George Washington (1732-1799) made no pretension to 
literary distinction, but his Letters and Official Documents deserve 
a place in American literature. The three succeeding Presi- 
dents of the United States were men of literary ability, and 
their contributions to the political literature of this nation were 
important. John Adams (1735-1826) wrote some powerful 
political pamphlets, and his letters* form a valuable addition to 
the literature of his times. Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826) 
immortalized himself as the writer of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence^ He was author, also, of many other papers and 
Letters of importance. Jefferson was one of the best educated 
men of his times. His Notes on Virginia is one of his most im- 
portant works. James Madison (1751-1836) is principally 
known in literature by his contributions to The Federalist, and 
by his Beport of the Debates of the Convention which framed the 
Constitution. 

All of the writings of this time were more or less political in 
nature. Satire was the chief feature of the poetry, and, in the 
hands of such writers as Francis Hopkinson, Philip Fre- 
neatj, John Trumbull, became a powerful weapon on the 
side of American independence. 



* Abigail Adams (1744-1818), wife of John Adams, deserves, in a literary point of 
view, equal mention with her husband. Her Letters — Familiar Letters of John Adams 
and his wife Abigail Adams during the Revolution, with a Memoir of Mrs. Adams 
by Charles Francis Adams — have recently been published. 

f The committee appointed to draw up the Declaration of Independence consisted 
of Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and R. R. 
Livingstone. At the request of John Adams, the writing of it was entrusted to 
Thomas Jefferson. 



LITERATURE OF THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 289 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Revolu- 
tionary Period. 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

From Poor Richard's Almanac. 

The hour of the sale not being come, they were conversing on the 
badness of the times ; and one of the company called to a plain, clean 
old man, with white locks : " Pray, Father Abraham, what think you 
of the times ? Will not these heavy taxes quite ruin the country ? How 
shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to?" 
Father Abraham stood up, and replied: "If you would have my ad- 
vice, I will give it you in short ; for A word to the wise is enough, as Poor 
Kichard says." They joined in desiring him to speak his mind, and, 
gathering round him, he proceeded as follows : 

" Friends," said he, " the taxes are indeed very heavy, and, if those 
laid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we might 
more easily discharge them ; but we have many others, and much more 
grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, 
three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly ; 
and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us by 
allowing an abatement. However, let us hearken to good advice, and 
something may be done for us. God helps them that help themselves, as 
Poor Kichard says. 

" It would be thought a hard government that should tax its people 
one-tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service ; but idleness 
taxes many of us much more ; sloth, by bringing on diseases, absolutely 
shortens life. Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears; while the 
used key is always bright, as Poor Richard says. But dost thou love life, 
then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of, as Poor Rich- 
ard says. How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep, for- 
getting that The sleeping fox catches no poultry, and that There will be sleep- 
ing enough in the grave, as Poor Richard says." 

More of Poor Richard's Sayings. 

If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be the 
greatest prodigality. 

Lost time is never found again ; and what we call time enough always 
proves little enough. 

Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy, 

Drive thy business, let not that drive thee. 
25 T 



290 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and 
wise. 

Diligence is the mother of good luck. 
God gives all things to industry. 

Plough deep while sluggards sleep, and you will have corn to sell and 
to keep. 

One to-day is worth two to-morrows. 

Never leave that till to-morrow which you can do to-day. 

The cat in gloves catches no mice. 

Constant dropping wears away stones. 

Little strokes fell great oaks. 

Three removes are as bad as a fire. 

Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee. 

If you would have your business done, go ; if not, send. 

He that by the plough would thrive, 

Himself must either hold or drive. 
A fat kitchen makes a lean will. 

If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting. 
What maintains one vice would bring up two children. 
A small leak will sink a great ship. 

From a Letter to Sir Joseph Banks, dated July, 1783. 

On the Keturn of Peace. 

Dear Sir: — I join with you most cordially in rejoicing at the return 
of peace. I hope it will be lasting, and that mankind will at length, as 
they call themselves reasonable creatures, have reason and sense enough 
to settle their differences without cutting throats ; for, in my opinion, 
there never was a good war or a bad peace. What vast additions to the 
conveniences and comforts of living might mankind have acquired, if 
the money spent in wars had been employed in works of public utility ! 
What an extension of agriculture, even to the tops of our mountains ; 
what rivers rendered navigable, or joined by canals; what bridges, 
aqueducts, new roads, and other public works, edifices, and improve- 
ments, rendering England a complete paradise, might have been 
obtained by spending those millions in doing good, which in the last 
war have been spent in doing mischief ; in bringing misery into thou- 
sands of families, and destroying the lives of so many thousands of 
working-people, who might have performed the useful labor! 



LITERATURE OF THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 291 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

From a Letter to Lafayette. 

There is not a man living who wishes more sincerely than I do to see 
a plan adopted for the abolition of it.* But there is only one proper and 
effectual mode by which it can be accomplished, and that is, by legislative 
authority ; and this, as far as my suffrage will go, shall never be wanting. 

I never mean, unless some peculiar circumstances should compel me 
to it, to possess another slave by purchase, it being among my first 
wishes to see some plan adopted by which slavery in this country may 
be abolished by law. 

JOHN ADAMS. 

From a Letter to his Wife. 

July 3, 1776. 

The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch 
in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be cele- 
brated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It 
ought to be commemorated, as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts 
of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp 
and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illumina- 
tions from one end of the continent to the other, from this time forward 
for evermore. 

You will think me transported with enthusiasm ; but I am not. I 
am well aware of the toil, and blood, and treasure that it will cost us to 
maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. Yet, 
through all the gloom, I can see the rays of ravishing light and glory. 
I can see that the end is more than worth all the means ; and that pos- 
terity will triumph in that day's transactions, even although we should 
rue it, which I trust in God we shall not. 

ABIGAIL ADAMS. 

From a Letter to her Husband on his being elected 
President of the United States. 

Quincy, February 8, 1797. 
" The sun is dressed in brightest beams, 
To give thy honors to the day." 

And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each ensuing season ! You 
have this day to declare yourself head of a nation. " And now, O Lord, 



* Slavery. 



292 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



my God, thou hast made thy servant ruler over the people. Give unto 
him an understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and come 
in before this great people ; that he may discern between good and bad ; 
for who is able to judge this thy so great a people ? " were the words of 
a royal sovereign ; and not less applicable to him who is invested with 
the chief magistracy of a nation, though he wear not a crown nor the 
robes of royalty. 

My thoughts and my meditations are with you, though personally 
absent ; and my petitions to Heaven are that " the things which make 
for peace may not be hidden from your eyes." My feelings are not 
those of pride or ostentation upon the occasion. They are solemnized 
by a sense of the obligations, the important trusts and numerous duties, 
connected with it. That you may be enabled to discharge them with 
honor to yourself, with justice and impartiality to your country, and 
with satisfaction to this great people, shall be the daily prayer of your 

A. A. 

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

From The Preamble to the Declaration of 
Independence. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident ; that all men are created 
equal ; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unaliena- 
ble rights ; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happi- 
ness ; that, to secure these rights, governments are instituted among 
men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that 
whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it 
is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new 
government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its 
powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their 
safety and happiness. 

FRANCIS HOPKINSON. 

From The Battle of the Kegs.* 
* * * * 

The royal band now ready stand, 
All rang'd in dread array, sir, 

* This ballad was occasioned by a real incident. Certain machines, in the form 
of kegs, charged with gunpowder, were sent down the river to annoy the British 
shipping then at Philadelphia. The danger of these machines being discovered, the 
British manned the wharves and shipping, and discharged their small arms and can- 
nons at every thing they saw floating in the river during the ebb tide. 



LITERATURE OF THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 293 



With stomach stout to see it out, 
And make a bloody day, sir. 

The cannons roar from shore to shore, 
The small arms make a rattle ; 

Since wars began I 'm sure no man 
E'er saw so strange a battle. 

The rebel dales, the rebel vale?, 

With rebel trees surrounded ; 
The distant wood, the hills and floods, 

With rebel echoes sounded. 

The fish below swam to and fro, 

Attack'd from ev'ry quarter ; 
Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay 

'Mongst folks above the water. 

The kegs, 'tis said, tho' strongly made 
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir, 

Could not oppose their powerful foes, 
The conq'ring British troops, sir. 

From morn to night these men of might 

Displayed amazing courage ; 
And when the sun was fairly down, 

Retired to sup their porridge. 

An hundred men with each a pen, 

Or more, upon my word, sir, 
It is most true would be too few 

Their valor to record, sir. 

Such feats did they perform that day 
Against these wicked kegs, sir, 

That years to come, if they get home, 
They '11 make their boasts and brags, sir, 

JOHN TRUMBULL. 

From McFixg-al. 
When Yankees, skill' d in martial rule, 
First put the British troops to school, 
Instructed them in warlike trade, 
And new manoeuvres of parade, 
The true war-dance of Yankee reels, 
And manual exercise of heels; 

25* 



294 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE, 



Made them give up, like saints complete, 

The arm of flesh, and trust the feet, 

And work, like Christians undissembling, 

Salvation out, by fear and trembling ; 

Taught Percy * fashionable races, 

And modern modes of Chevy-Chases: 

From Boston, in his best array, 

Great Squire McFingal took his way, 

And graced with ensigns of renown, 

Steered homeward to his native town. 

His high descent our heralds trace 

From Ossian's famed Fingalian race: 

For though their name some part may lack, 

Old Fingal spelt it with a Mac; 

Which great McPherson, with submission, 

We hope will add the next edition. 

His fathers flourish' d in the Highlands 

Of Scotia's fog-benighted islands ; 

Whence gain'd our 'squire two gifts by right, 

Eebellion, and the second-sight. 

Syllabus. 

Oratory is usually the prominent feature of republics, or of nations in 
their struggle for freedom. The literature of America during the Revolution 
was as distinctly patriotic as it was theological in the Colonial period. 
James Otis, Patrick Henry, and Fisher Ames were distinguished orators. 
This was the age of Burke, Pitt, Fox, and Sheridan in England. 

Dr. Franklin was the most prominent literary character of the age in 
America. Dr. Johnson was his contemporary in England. 

After the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, The Feder- 
alist was one of the most important publications. It was a series of papers 
written by Hamilton, Madison, and Jay. Alexander Hamilton was the 
brightest ornament of the age. Adams, Jefferson, and Madison contributed 
to the political literature of the Revolution. 

The poets of the time wrote mainly in satiric vein. Principal among the 
satirists were Francis Hopkinson, Philip Freneau, and John Trumbull. 



* Lord Percy commanded the party that was first opposed to the Americans at 
Lexington. This allusion to the family renown of Chevy-Chase arose from the pre- 
cipitate manner of his lordship's quitting the field of battle and returning to Boston. 
—Lon. Edit. 



IRVING. 



CHAPTER XVI. 
The Age of Irving. 

1800—1850. 

THE actual literary life of America dates from the beginning 
of the nineteenth century. It is coeval with the new birth 
of German literature — with that, indeed, of Teutonic literature 
outside of England. For the first twenty-five or thirty years, 
however, but few great writers appeared in America. 

The chief poets contemporary with Scott and Byron were 
Drake and Halleck. Many of the poets of the present day 
were rising into notice. Bryant had published some of his 
best poems, and before 1840 Longfellow, Whittier, and Lowell 
had been recognized as poets of the first order ; Poe belongs 
to the age under consideration, but his literary career began 
about 1830.* 

Joseph Eodman Drake (1795-1820) was contemporary with 
the English poet Keats, and resembled, in some respects, that 
short-lived poet. His fancy, however, was more delicate in 
its play, and quite as luxuriant, as is evidenced in his ex- 

* Other poets contemporary with Halleck and Drake existed, and most of them 
became famous by a single song. Hail Columbia was written by Joseph Hopktnson 
(1770-1840). The Star-Spangled Banner by Francis S. Key (1779-1843), of Maryland. 
Adams and Liberty by Robert Treat Paine, Jr. (1773-1811). The Old Oaken Bucket 
by Samuel Woodworth (1785-1842), and Home, Sweet Home, the treasured song in 
all lands, by John Howard Payne (1792-1852). 

295 



296 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



quisite poem, The Culprit Fay.* He is best known by his 
patriotic poem, The American Flag, familiar to every reader. 
The Culprit Fay is a poem of some length, detailing with 
minuteness the punishment of the Fairy, whose offence was 
loving an earth-born maiden. The fairy court assemble to 
pass judgment on the tiny Ouphe. Delicately and consist- 
ently the habitat of fairydom is portrayed, and never more 
delightful interest could be aroused than that with which we 
follow the little "culprit" through his assigned tasks of pen- 
ance, so exquisitely performed. The whole story, while main- 
taining its unity of diminutiveness, is invested with such human 
interest that it is truly one of the most delightful fairy stories 
in the language. 

Fitz-Greene Halleck (1795-1867), the intimate friend and 
associate of Drake, won his literary renown within the period 
which this chapter covers. He wrote but little more than 
Drake. Like his contemporary Byron, his interests were 
warmly roused for the Greeks in their struggle to throw off the 
Turkish yoke, and his immortal lyric, Marco Bozzaris, com- 
memorates the death of that hero in 1823. Halleck first drew 
public attention in 1819 by a series of humorous and satirical 
poems, published in conjunction with his friend Drake under 
the signature of "Croaker & Co." The chief poems of Hal- 
leck after Marco Bozzaris are his Lines on Burns, one of the 
finest of the many tributes to that poet ; Alnwick Castle, Fanny, 
a satire on the fashionable literary and political enthusiasm of 
the day ; Bed Jacket, and Twilight, the latter published in the 
" Evening Post " in 1818. His tribute to his friend Drake, two 
lines of which have become the current language of endearing 
praise, was written on the death of that poet.f Halleck wrote 



* " The Culprit Fay arose out of a conversation in the summer of 1819, in which. 
Drake, Cooper, and Halleck were speaking of the Scottish streams and their adapta- 
tion to the uses of poetry by their numerous romantic associations. Cooper and 
Halleck maintained that our own rivers furnished no such capabilities, while Drake, 
as usual, took the opposite side of the argument, and, to make his position good, 
produced in three days The Culprit Fay." 

f Green be the turf above thee, 
Friend of my better days ! 
None knew thee but to love thee, 
Nor named thee but to praise. 



THE AGE OF IRVING. 



297 



little or nothing after 1827, and thirty-two poems comprise his 
works. Born in Connecticut, he resided most of his life in 
New York, and, becoming clerk in a banking-house, was after- 
wards associated with John Jacob Astor. 

The brief and fitful life of Edgar Allan Poe (1811-1849) 
had in it some points of resemblance to Byron's. Left an 
orphan at an early age, he was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Allan, 
of Kichmond, Ya., who bestowed upon him their name and 
affection. Petulant, self-willed, and proud, he early wrested 
himself from all control. His wandering, dissipated life pre- 
sents few attractive features. His genius was of a high and 
rare order, and his productions weird and unnatural. He was 
a master of melody, but while his poems pleased the ear and 
fancy they seldom touched the heart, except to call forth pity 
for a gifted mind, "like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and 
harsh." His stories are more weird even than his poetry, and 
possess a peculiar fascination. Poe also wrote literary criti- 
cisms, but they were frequently marred with petty jealousies. 
His principal poems are The Raven, The Bells, Ulalume, Anna- 
bel Lee, The Haunted Palace, etc. Among his tales are The 
Gold Bug, A MS. Found, in a Bottle, Tales of the Grotesque and 
Arabesque, The Murder in the Rue Morgue, etc., etc. Poe also 
edited " The Southern Literary Messenger," "The Gentle- 
man's Magazine," "Graham's Magazine," etc. 

Among the poets of this time was N. P. Willis (1806-1867), 
whose smoothness of versification somewhat resembles Moore's. 
His Scriptural poems contain his finest strains. He repre- 
sented in himself a certain phase of society that existed at 
the time in New York, which his minor poems also reflect. 
George P. Morris (1802-1864), "the song writer of Amer- 
ica," was associated with N. P. Willis. Together they edited 
the "Home Journal" and the " New York Mirror." Morris's 
songs are familiar to all, especially My Mothers Bible; Wood- 
man, Spare that Tree; Long Time Ago, The Rock of the Pilgrims, 
Near the Lake where drooped the Willow, etc. He also wrote a 
drama, Briar Cliff, and an opera, The Maid of Saxony. 

The Novel. 

The drama has never taken distinct root upon American soil. 
Too much of earnest reality surrounded the settlers of this 



298 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



country for them to embody in a play the great drama they 
were themselves enacting,* but with James Fenimore Cooper 
(1789-1851) the novel became a distinct feature in American 
literature.! Cooper was born at Burlington, N. J., but lived 
most of his life in New York. His fame as a novelist was 
established when, in 1821, he published his second novel, The 
Spy. This was followed soon by The Pioneers, which still in- 
creased his fame. Before 1832, the year of Scott's death, he 
had published twelve novels. So popular were these, that they 
were translated into all the principal European languages. 
With untiring industry, this great master of the pen con- 
tinued from year to year issuing novel after novel, until the 
last year of his life. J 

u Cooper represents the American mind in its adventurous 
character ; he glories in delineating the 4 monarch of the 
deck ; ' paints the movements of a ship at sea as if she were 

* A few plays were, however, written. Mrs. Mercy Warren, in the Revolutionary 
period, wrote satirical tragedies ; and Mrs. Susanna Rowson (1761-1824), author of 
the once popular novel, Charlotte Temple, wrote several comedies. James A. Hill- 
house (1789-1841) published in 1820 his Percy's Masque, a Drama in Five Acts. His 
best known drama is Hadad, the story of a Syrian prince contemporary with King 
David. He also wrote Demetria, a Tragedy in Five Acts, founded on an Italian story 
of love and jealousy. John Howard Payne, the author of Home, Sweet Home, 
wrote a number of plays, having at an early age gone upon the stage. John Neal 
(1793 ), besides tales, novels, etc., wrote several Plays. 

f He was preceded, however, by Charles Brockden Brown (1771-1810), born in 
Philadelphia, the first novelist of any note in America ; the first writer, also, who 
made literature a profession. His novel, Wieland, made its appearance in 1798, and 
was followed in rapid succession by Ormund, Arthur Mervyn, Edgar Huntley, Clara 
Howard, Jane Talbot, Sky- Walk, or the Man Unknown to Himself. His novels are of the 
11 terrific school." Arthur Mervyn, said to be his best, contains scenes descriptive of 
the terrible year of the yellow fever in Philadelphia, 1793. 

% The following is a list of Cooper's novels, with the dates of publication : 

Precaution, 1821. The Heidenmauer, 1832. Wyandotte, 1843. 

The Spy, 1821. The Headsman, 1833. Afloat and Ashore, 1844. 

The Pioneers, 1823. The Monikins, 1835. Miles Wallingford, 1844. 

The Pilot, 1823. Homeward Bound, 1838. The Chainbearer, 1845. 

Lionel Lincoln, 1825. Home as Found, 1838. Satanstoe, 1845. 

Last of the Mohicans, 1826. The Pathfinder, 1840. The Bed Skins, 1846. 

Red Rover, 1827. Mercedes of Castile, 1840. The Crater, 1847. 

The Prairie, 1827. The Deerslayer, 1841. Jack Tier, 1848. 

Travelling Bachelor, 1828. The Two Admirals, 1842. Oak Openings, 1848. 

Wept of Wish-ton- Wish, 1829. Wing and Wing, 1842. The Sea Lions, 1849. 

The Water-Witch, 1830. Ned Myers, 1843. The Ways of the Hour, 1850. 
The Bravo, 1831. 



THE AGE OF IRVING. 



299 



indeed 6 a thing of life ; ' follows an Indian trail with the sa- 
gacity of a forest-king ; and leads us through storms, confla- 
grations, and war with the firm, clear-sighted, and all-observant 
guidance of a master spirit. His best scenes and characters 
are indelibly engraven on the memory. His best creations 
are instinct with nature and truth. His tone is uniformly 
manly, fresh, and vigorous."* 

CHANNING. 

William Ellery Chaining (1780-1842) ranks less promi- 
nently as a theologian than as a writer of ethical Essays. These 
hold a high place in American literature. In 1828 he published 
his Bemarks on the Life and Character of Napoleon Bonaparte. 
In 1837 he addressed a public Letter to Henry Clay against the 
extension of slavery by the annexation of Texas. This was 
followed by a Bevieio of Joseph John Gurney's Letters on West 
India Emancipation. Of Channing there can be but one opinion, 
and that perhaps Coleridge has expressed when he said of him, 
"he had the love of wisdom and the wisdom of love." His 
writings are all of an elevated and elevating tone. Doubtless 
many an American youth received his first impulse and ambi- 
tious determination from the reading of Channing's essay on 
Self-Culture. His Essay on the Character and Writings of John 
Milton shows his sympathy with lofty ideas. He early espoused 
the great movements of reform which were then beginning to 
agitate the community. On the subject of human bondage he 
was deeply moved. " There is one word that covers every cause 
to which Channing devoted his talents and his heart, and that 
word is Freedom. Liberty is the key of his religious, his polit- 
ical, his philanthropic, principles. Free the slave, free the 
serf, free the ignorant, free the sinful. Let there be no chains 
upon the conscience, the intellect, the pursuits or the persons 
of men." f 

History and Biography. 
IRVING. 

It is difficult to classify under one head the writings of Wash- 
ington Irving (1783-1859). History and fiction both claim 



* H. T. Tuckermau. 



f Rev. H. W. Bellows. 



300 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



him, but his inimitable works in the latter department do not 
come under the head of novels. Some of his best historical 
works were not written until after the close of this period. 
Under whatever head his writings may be classed, they are 
the pride of American literature. He has been called the 
Goldsmith of America, and has been, with some justice, com- 
pared to Addison. In the clearness and grace of his style, and 
in the ripple of humor that overflows all, there is some resem- 
blance to both writers. 

Irving was born in the city of New York. He received only 
a common-school education, but in his father's well-selected 
library, and in the company of his elder brothers, he enjoyed 
the intercourse needed for his future career. When he was 
nineteen he contributed articles to a paper— the " Morning 
Chronicle "—edited by his brother, Peter Irving. These 
articles were written under the pseudonym of u Jonathan Old- 
style." On account of ill-health, he sailed, in 1804, for south- 
ern Europe, visiting France, Italy, Switzerland, and Holland. 
Spending some time in London, he returned to Kew York, and 
with his brother, William Irving, and James K. Paulding 
started a fortnightly periodical, entitled Salmagundi, profess- 
ing to give the " whim-whams and opinions of Launcelot Lang- 
staff, Esquire." In this, as in Addison's Spectator, the follies 
of the day were satirized, though the humor was broader and 
the fun more irresistible than that of the Spectator. 

Irving 's next venture was Knickerbocker's History of New 
York, published in 1809, the first part of which he wrote in 
conjunction with his brother, Dr. Peter Irving. After this he 
took another trip to Europe, and from London sent to Xew 
York for publication the papers known afterwards as the Sketch- 
Book. In 1820 the work was published in London, and was as 
popular there as here. In 1822, while in Paris, he wrote Brace- 
bridge Hall, a collection of stories and sketches. Tales of a 
Traveller appeared two years later. 

In 1826, Irving visited Spain, invited by Alexander H. Ever- 
ett, then United States Minister to that country. While there 
he wrote the Life of Columbus, and The Conquest of Granada, 
and collected materials for his Alhambra. Being appointed 
Secretary of Legation to the American Embassy in London, he 



THE AGE OF IRVING. 



301 



went again to England, and in 1832 returned to ]S"ew York. 
Soon after he commenced an extended Western tour, the fruits 
of which are Tour of the Prairies, Astoria, and the Adventures 
of Captain Bonneville. Under the pseudonym of " Geoffrey 
Crayon, Gentleman," he published the " Crayon Miscellany," 
in which his Tour of the Prairies was first issued, together with 
some European sketches. He afterwards contributed articles 
to the " Knickerbocker Magazine,"* which were collected 
under the name of WolferVs Boost. 

In 1842, Irving was appointed as United States Minister 
to Spain, which position he occupied four years. Eeturning 
home, he took up his residence at " Sunnyside," on the Hud- 
son, and here, surrounded by his nieces, his brother, and his 
friends (he never married), Irving passed the remainder of his 
da}'s. Here he wrote or enlarged the Life of Goldsmith, and 
near the close of his life wrote the Life of Washington, which is 
in itself a history of the revolution. Twenty-three years of 
his life were spent abroad, so that, in the words of Lowell, he 
is " neither English nor Yankee— just Irving." 

PRESCOTT. 

William Hickling Prescott (1796-1859), the most brill- 
iant of American historians, was a grandson of AVilliam Pres- 
cott of Bunker Hill memory. He was born at Salem, Mass. 
He entered Harvard at an early age, but before graduating, an 
accident occurred which caused blindness, and changed the 
whole current of his life. After graduating, he went abroad 
to secure the aid of the best oculists, but without avail. Re- 
turning, with no vain repinings, he decided on following a lit- 
erary life, applying the means which he possessed to secure the 
necessary aid. Questions in history, embracing the voyage of 
Columbus and the decline of the Moorish power in Spain, ab- 
sorbed his young imagination, By the aid of Alexander H. 
Everett, then Minister to Spain, he obtained ample documents 
on these subjects. These were read to him with care, elabo- 
rated in his own mind, and dictated in elegant language to his 



* The " Knickerbocker Magazine" was established in 1833 by Charles Fenno 
Hoffman. 
26 



302 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 

amanuensis. His first work was the History of Ferdinand and 
Isabella. This was followed by the Conquest of Peru, and his 
last work was Philip II. of Spain. 

Illustrations of the Literature of the Period from 
1800 to 1850. 

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 

From The Culprit Fay. 
iv. 

They come from beds of lichen green, 
They creep from the mullen's velvet screen; 

Some on the backs of beetles fly 
From the silver tops of moon-touch'd trees, 

Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, 
And rock'd about in the evening breeze ; 

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest, — 
They had driven him out by elfin power, 

And, pillow'd on plumes of his rainbow breast, 
Had slumber' d there till the charmed hour ; 

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, 
With glittering ising-stars inlaid; 

And some had open'd the four-o'clock, 
And stole within its purple shade. 

And now they throng the moonlight glade, 
Above — below — on every side, 

Their little minim forms array' d 
In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride ! 

v. 

For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow; 

He has loved an earthly maid, 

And left for her his woodland shade ; 

He has lain upon her lip of dew, 

And sunn'd him in her eye of blue. 

For this the shadowy tribes of air 

To the elfin court must haste away : — 
And now they stand expectant there, 

To hear the doom of the culprit Fay. 



LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD FROM 1800 TO 1850. 803 



vm. 

"Thou shalt seek the beach of sand 
Where the water bounds the elfin land ; 
Thou shalt watch the oozy brine 
Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, 
Then dart the glistening arch below, 
And catch a drop from his silver bow. 
The water sprites will wield their arms 
And dash around, with roar and rave, 
And vain are the woodland spirits' charms, 

They are the imps that rule the wave. 
Yet trust thee in thy single might : 
If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, 
Thou shalt win the warlock fight 

IX. 

"If the spray-bead gem be won, 

The stain of thy wing is wash'd away : 

But another errand must be done 
Ere thy crime be lost for aye ; 

Thy flame- wood lamp is quench' d and dark, 

Thou must reillume its spark. 

Mount thy steed and spur him high 

To the heaven's blue canopy; 

And when thou seest a shooting star, 

Follow it fast, and follow it far, — 

The last faint spark of its burning train 

Shall light the elfin lamp again. 

Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay; 

Hence ! to the water-side, away ! " * 

XXV. 

He put his acorn helmet on ; 

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down. 

The corselet plate that guarded his breast 

Was once the wild bee's golden vest ; 

His cloak of a thousand mingled dyes, 

Was form'd of the wings of butterflies; 

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, 

Studs of gold on a ground of green ; 

* The fairy's successful endeavor to " catch a drop from the silver bow " of the 
* sturgeon, and his return to The shore, are exquisitely told, but for want of space 
cannot be given. The following stanzas describe his pursuit of " the last faint spark " 
in the train of the shooting star. 



304 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



And the quivering lance which he brandish'd bright, 
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. 
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed ; 

He bared his blade of the bent grass blue; 
He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, 

And away like a glance of thought he flew, 
To skim the heavens, and follow far 
The fiery trail of the rocket-star. 

XXVII. 

Up to the vaulted firmament 

His path the fire-fly courser bent, 

And at every gallop on the wind, 

He flung a glittering spark behind ; 

He flies like a feather in the blast 

Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. 

XXIX. 

Oh ! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, 

To tread the starry plain of even, 
To meet the thousand eyes of night, 

And feel the cooling breath of heaven I 
But the elfin made no stop or stay 
Till he came to the bank of the milky way, 
Then he check'd his courser's foot, 
And watch' d for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. 
* * * * * 

He is successful. The stain on his wing is washed away ; his flame- 
wood lamp is rekindled, and the glad fairies " hail the wanderer again," 
and twining 

In a jocund ring, 
Sing and trip it merrily, 
Hand to hand, and wing to wing, 
Bound the wild witch-hazel tree. 

* *: - * * * 

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 

Burns. 

***** 
There have been loftier themes than his, 

And longer scrolls, and louder lyres, 
And lays lit up with Poesy's 

Purer and holier fires: 



LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD FROM 1800 TO 1850. 



Yet read the names that know not death ; 

Few nobler ones than Burns are there ; 
And few have won a greener wreath 

Than that which binds his hair. 

His is that language of the heart 

In which the answering heart would speak, 

Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, 
Or the smile light the cheek ; 

And his that music, to whose tone 

The common pulse of man keeps time, 

In cot or castle's mirth or moan, 
In cold or sunny clime. 

And who hath heard his song, nor knelt 

Before its spell with willing knee, 

And listen' d, and believed, and felt, 

The Poet's mastery? 
* * * * * 

EDGAR ALLAN POB. 

Annabel Lee. 
It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden there lived, whom you may know, 

By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

Than to love, and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea : 
But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and my Annabel Lee — 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out*)f a cloud chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So that her high-born kinsmen came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 

In this kingdom by the sea. 
26* U 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me, 
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we, 

Of many far wiser than we ; 
And neither the angels in heaven above, 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
And so all the night-time, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, 
In the sepulchre there by the sea, 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

Ulalume. 

The skies they were ashen and sober ; 

The leaves they were crisped and sere — 

The leaves they were withering and sere ; 
It was night in the lonesome October 

Of my most immemorial year; 
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 

In the misty mid region of Weir — 
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

Here once, through an alley Titanic, 

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — 

Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. 
These were days when my heart was volcanic 

As the scoriae rivers that roll — 

As the lavas that restlessly roll 
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 

In the ultimate climes of the pole — 



LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD FROM 1800 TO 1850. 



That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 
In the realms of the boreal pole. 

Our talk had been serious and sober, 

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere — 
Our memories were treacherous and sere — 

For we knew not the month was October, 

And we marked not the night of the year — 
(Ah, night of all nights in the year !) 

We noted not the dim lake of Auber — 

(Though once we had journeyed down here) — 

Eemembered not the dank tarn of Auber 

Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

And now, as the night was senescent 

And star-dials pointed to morn — 

As the star-dials hinted of morn — 
At the end of our path a liquescent 

And nebulous lustre was born, 
Out of which a miraculous crescent 

Arose with a duplicate horn — 
Astarte's bediamonded crescent 

Distinct with its duplicate horn. 

And I said, " She is warmer than Dian : 

She rolls through an ether of sighs — 

She revels in a region of sighs : 
She has seen that the tears are not dry on 

These cheeks, where the worm never dies, 
And has come past the stars of the Lion 

To point us the path to the skies — 

To the Lethean peace of the skies — 
Come up, in despite of the Lion, 

To shine on us with her bright eyes — 
Come up through the lair of the Lion, 

With love in her luminous eyes." 

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 

Said, " Sadly this star I mistrust — 
Her pallor I strangely mistrust : — 

Oh, hasten ! — oh, let us not linger ! 

Oh, fly ! — let us fly ! — for we must." 

In terror she spoke, letting sink her 

Wings till they trailed in the dust — 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



In agony sobbed, letting sink her 

Plumes till they trailed in the dust — 
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 

I replied, " This is nothing but dreaming : 

Let us on by this tremulous light ! 

Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! 
Its Sybilic splendor is beaming 

With Hope and in Beauty to-night: — 

See ! — it flickers up the sky through the night ! 
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, 

And be sure it will lead us aright — 
We safely may trust to a gleaming 

That cannot but guide us aright, 

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." 

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, 
And tempted her out of her gloom — 
And conquered her scruples and gloom; 

And we passed to the end of the vista, 

But were stopped by the door of a tomb — 
By the door of a legended tomb; 

And I said, " What is written, sweet sister, 
On the door of this legended tomb?" 
She replied, "Ulalume — Ulalume — 
'T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! " 

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 

As the leaves that were crisped and sere — 
As the leaves that were withering and sere, 

And I cried, "It was surely October, 
On this very night of last year, 
That I journeyed — I journeyed down here — 
That I brought a dread burden down here — 
On this night of all nights in the year, 
Ah, what demon has tempted me here ? 

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber — 
This misty mid region of Weir — 

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." 



LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD FROM 1800 TO 1850. 309 



WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 

From Address on Self-Culture. 

Every man, in every condition, is great. It is only our own diseased 
sight which makes him little. A man is great as a man, be he where or 
what he may. The grandeur of his nature turns to insignificance all 
outward distinctions. His powers of intellect, of conscience, of love, of 
knowing God, of perceiving the beautiful, of acting on his own mind, 
on outward nature, and on his fellow-creatures, — these are glorious pre- 
rogatives. Through the vulgar error of undervaluing what is common, 
we are apt, indeed, to pass these by as of little worth. But, as in the 
outward creation, so in the soul, the common is the most precious. 
Science and art may invent splendid modes of illuminating the apart- 
ments of the opulent ; but these are all poor and worthless, compared 
with the common light which the sun sends into all our windows, which 
he pours freely, impartially, over hill and valley, which kindles daily 
the eastern and western sky : and so the common lights of reason, and 
conscience, and love, are of more worth and dignity than the rare endow- 
ments which give celebrity to a few. Let us not disparage that nature 
which is common to all men ; for no thought can measure its grandeur. 
It is the image of God, the image even of his infinity, for no limits can 
be set to its unfolding. He who possesses the divine powers of the soul 
is a great being, be his place what it may. You may clothe him with 
rags, may immure him in a dungeon, may chain him to slavish tasks. 
But he is still great. You may shut him out of your houses ; but God 
opens to him heavenly mansions. He makes no show, indeed, in the 
streets of a splendid city ; but a clear thought, a pure affection, a reso- 
lute act of a virtuous will, have a dignity of quite another kind, and 
far higher than accumulations of brick, and granite, and plaster, and 
stucco, however cunningly put together. 

It is force of thought which measures intellectual, and so it is force of 
principle which measures moral, greatness, — that highest of human en- 
dowments, that brightest manifestation of the Divinity. The greatest 
man is he who chooses the Right with invincible resolution, who resists 
the sorest temptations from within and without, who bears the heaviest 
burdens cheerfully, who is calmest in storms and most fearless under 
menace and frowns, whose reliance on truth, on virtue, on God, is most 
unfaltering. I believe this greatness to be most common among the 
multitude, whose names are never heard. Among common people will 
be found more of hardship borne manfully, more of unvarnished truth, 
more of religious trust, more of that generosity which gives what the 



310 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



giver needs himself, and more of a wise estimate of life and death, 
than among the more prosperous. In these remarks you will see why I 
feel and express a deep interest in the obscure, — in the mass of men. 
The distinctions of society vanish before the light of these truths. I 
attach myself to the multitude, not because they are voters and have 
political power, but because they are men, and have within their reach 
the most glorious prizes of humanity. 

WASHINGTON IRVING. 

From Knickerbocker's History of New York. 

The person of this illustrious old gentleman was formed and propor- 
tioned as though it had been moulded by the hands of some cunning 
Dutch statuary, as a model of majesty and lordly grandeur. He was 
exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet five inches in circum- 
ference. His head was a perfect sphere, and of such stupendous dimen- 
sions, that dame Nature, with all her sex's ingenuity, would have been 
puzzled to construct a neck capable of supporting it ; wherefore she 
wisely declined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the top of his 
back-bone, just between the shoulders. His body was oblong, and par- 
ticularly capacious at bottom ; which was wisely ordered by Providence, 
seeing that he was a man of sedentary habits, and very averse to the 
idle labor of walking. His legs were short, but sturdy in proportion to 
the weight they had to sustain ; so that when erect he had not a little 
the appearance of a beer-barrel on skids. His face — that infallible in- 
dex of the mind — presented a vast expanse, unfurrowed by any of those 
lines and angles which disfigure the human countenance with what is 
termed expression. Two small gray eyes twinkled feebly in the midst, 
like two stars of lesser magnitude in a hazy firmament ; and his full- 
fed cheeks, which seemed to have taken toll of everything that went 
into his mouth, were curiously mottled and streaked with dusky red ; 
like a spitzenberg apple. 

His habits were as regular as his person. He daily took his four 
stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour to each ; he smoked and 
doubted eight hours, and he slept the remaining twelve of the four-and- 
twenty. Such was the renowned Wouter Van Twiller, — a true philoso- 
pher ; for his mind was either elevated above, or tranquilly settled be- 
low, the cares and perplexities of this world. He had lived in it for 
years, without feeling the least curiosity to know whether the sun revolved 
round it, or it round the sun ; and he had watched, for at least half a 
century, the smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, without once 
troubling his head with any of those numerous theories by which a 



LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD FROM 1800 TO 1850. 311 



philosopher would have perplexed his brain, in accounting for its 
rising above the surrounding atmosphere. 

From The Sketch-Book. 

Rip Van Winkle's Return after his Twenty Years' Sleep in 
the Mountains. 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange 
children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray 
beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an old ac- 
quaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered ; 
it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he 
had never seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts 
had disappeared. Strange names were over the doors — strange faces at 
the windows — everything was strange. 

His mind now misgave him ; he began to doubt whether he and the 
world around him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native vil- 
lage, which he had left but the day before. There stood the Catskill 
mountains — there ran the silver Hudson in the distance — there was 
every hill and dale precisely as it had always been. Rip was sorely 
perplexed. "That flagon, last night," thought he, "has addled my poor 
head sadly ! 99 

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, 
which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear 
the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to 
decay — the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the 
hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about 
it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, 
and passed on. This was an unkind cut, indeed. " My very dog," sighed 
poor Rip, " has forgotten me ! " 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle 
had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently 
abandoned. This desolation overcame all his connubial fears — he called 
loudly for his wife and children — the lonely chambers rang for a 
moment with his voice, and then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth and hastened to his old resort, the village inn — 
but it, too, was gone. A large rickety wooden building stood in its place, 
with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended with old 
hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, " The Union Hotel, 
by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that used to shelter 
the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall naked 



312 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



pole, with something on tfee top that looked like a red night-cap, and 
from it was fluttering a flag on which was a singular assemblage of stars 
and stripes ; — all this was strange and incomprehensible. 

He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, 
under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe ; but even this 
was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of 
blue and buff, a sword was held in his hand instead of a sceptre, the 
head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in 
large characters, General Washington. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that 
Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. 
There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the 
accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the 
sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long 
pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle speeches ; or Yan 
Bummel, the school-master, doling forth the contents of an ancient 
newspaper. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his 
pockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of 
citizens — elections — members of Congress— liberty — Bunker's Hill — 
heroes of Seventy-six — and other word?, which were a perfect Baby- 
lonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his rusty fowl- 
ing-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children at 
his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern politicians. They 
crowded round him, eying him from head to foot with great curiosity. 
The orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired, 
" On which side he voted ? " Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another 
short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tip- 
toe, inquired in his ear, " Whether he was a Federal or Democrat ? " 

Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question ; when a know- 
ing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharped cocked hat, made his 
way through the crowd, putting them to the right and the left with his 
elbows as he passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, with one 
arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat 
penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded, in an austere 
tone, " What brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder 
and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in the 
village?" "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am 
a poor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, 
God bless him ! " 

Here a general shout burst from the by-standers — "A tory ! a tory ! a 



LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD FROM 1800 TO 1850. 313 



spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him ! " It was with great dif- 
ficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat restored order ; 
and, having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of 
the unknown culprit what he came there for, and whom he was seek- 
ing ? The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but 
merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, who used to 
keep about the tavern. 

" Well — who are they ! — name them." 

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, 

" Where 's Nicholas Vedder ? " 

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a 
thin piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder ! why, he is dead and gone these 
eighteen years ! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that 
used to tell all about him, but that 's rotten and gone too." 

" Where 's Brom Dutcher ? " 

" Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war ; some say 
he was killed at the storming of Stony Point, — others say he was 
drowned in a squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know — he 
never came back again." 

"Where 's Van Bummel, the school-master?" 

" He went off to the wars, too, was a great militia general, and is now 
in Congress." 

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and 
friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answer 
puzzled him too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of 
matters which he could not understand : war — Congress — Stony Point ; 
— he had no more courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out 
in despair, " Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle ? " 

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three, "oh, to be sure! 
that 's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree." 

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went 
up the mountain ; apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The 
poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own iden- 
tity, and whether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his 
bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and 
what was his name. 

" God knows," exclaimed he, at his wits' end ; (t I'm not myself — I 'm 
somebody else — that 's me yonder — no — that 's somebody else got into my 
shoes — I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and 
27 



314 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



they 've changed my gun, and everything 's changed, and I 'm changed, 
and I can't tell what 's my name, or who I am ! " 

At this critical moment a fresh, comely woman pressed through the 
throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child 
in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. "Hush, 
Kip," cried she, "hush, you little fool; the old man won't hurt you." 
The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, 
all awakened a train of recollections in his mind. M What 's your name, 
my good woman ? " asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier." 

"And your father's name ?" 

"Ah, poor man, Kip Van Winkle was his name, but it 's twenty 
years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been 
heard of since, — his dog came home without him ; but whether he shot 
himself, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was 
then but a little girl." 

Kip had but one question more to ask ; but he put it with a faltering 
voice : 

" Where 's your mother ? " 

" Oh, she too had died but a short time since ; she broke a blood-ves- 
sel in a fit of passion at a New England peddler." 

There was a drop of comfort at least in this intelligence. The honest 
man could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and her 
child in his arms. " I am your father ! " cried he ; " Young Kip Van 
Winkle once — old Kip Van Winkle now ! — Does nobody know poor 
Kip Van Winkle?" 

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among the 
crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for 
a moment, exclaimed, " Sure enough ! it is Kip Van Winkle — it is him- 
self! Welcome home again, old neighbor. Why, where have you been 
these twenty long years ? " 

Kip's daughter took him home to live with her ; she had a snug, well- 
furnished house, and a stout, cheery farmer for a husband, whom Kip 
recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb upon his back. As 
to Kip's son and heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against 
the tree, he was employed to work on the farm ; but evinced an hered- 
itary disposition to attend to anything else but his business. 



LITERATURE OF THE PERIOD FROM 1800 TO 1850. 315 



The Alhambra by Moonlight. 

The moon, which then was invisible, has gradually gained upon the 
nights, and now rolls in full splendor above the towers, pouring a flood 
of tempered light into every court and hall. The garden beneath my 
window is gently lighted up, the orange and citron trees are tipped with 
silver, the fountain sparkles in the moonbeams, and even the blush of 
the rose is faintly visible. 

I have sat for hours at my window inhaling the sweetness of the gar- 
den, and musing on the checkered features of those whose history is 
dimly shadowed out in the elegant memorials around. Sometimes I 
have issued forth at midnight when everything was quiet, and have 
wandered over the whole building. Who can do justice to a moonlight 
night in such a climate and in such a place ? The temperature of an 
Andalusian midnight, in summer, is perfectly ethereal. We seem lifted 
up into a purer atmosphere ; there is a serenity of soul, a buoyancy of 
spirits, an elasticity of frame, that render mere existence enjoyment. 
The effect of moonlight, too, on the Alhambra has something like en- 
chantment. Every rent and chasm of time, every mouldering tint and 
weather-stain, disappears, the marble resumes its original whiteness, the 
long colonnades brighten in the moonbeams, the halls are illuminated 
with a softened radiance, until the whole edifice reminds one of the 
enchanted palace of an Arabian tale. 

At such time I have ascended to the little pavilion called the Queen's 
Toilette, to enjoy its varied and extensive prospect. To the right, the 
snowy summits of the Sierra Nevada would gleam like silver clouds 
against the darker firmament, and all the outlines of the mountain 
would be softened, yet delicately defined. My delight, however, would 
be to lean over the parapet of the tocador, and gaze down upon Granada, 
spread out like a map below me, all buried in deep repose, and its white 
palaces and convents sleeping as it were in the moonshine. 

Sometimes I would hear the faint sounds of castanets from some party 
of dancers lingering in the Alameda ; at other times I have heard the 
dubious tones of a guitar, and the notes of a single voice rising from 
some solitary street, and have pictured to myself some youthful cavalier 
serenading his lady's window, — a gallant custom of former days, but 
now sadly on the decline, except in the remote towns and villages of 
Spain. 

Such are the scenes that have detained me for many an hour loiter- 
ing about the courts and balconies of the castle, enjoying that mixture 
of reverie and sensation which steal away existence in a Southern cli- 



316 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



mate, — and it has been almost morning before I have retired to my 
bed, and been lulled to sleep by the falling waters of the fountain of 
Lindaraxa. 

PRESCOTT. 

From the History of Ferdinand and Isabella. 

Queen Isabella. 

Her person was of the middle height, and well proportioned. She 
had a clear, fresh complexion, with light blue eyes and auburn hair, — 
a style of beauty exceedingly rare in Spain. Her features were regular, 
and universally allowed to be uncommonly handsome. The illusion 
which attaches to rank, more especially when united with engaging 
manners, might lead us to suspect some exaggeration in the encomiums 
so liberally lavished on her. But they would seem to be in a great 
measure justified by the portraits that remain of her, which combine a 
faultless symmetry of features with singular sweetness and intelligence 
of expression. 

Her manners were most gracious and pleasing. They were marked 
by natural dignity and modest reserve, tempered by an affability which 
flowed from the kindliness of her disposition. She was the last person 
to be approached with undue familiarity ; yet the respect which she 
imposed was mingled with the strongest feelings of devotion and love. 
She showed great tact in accommodating herself to the peculiar situation 
and character of those around her. She appeared in arms at the head 
of her troops, and shrunk from none of the hardships of war. During 
the reforms introduced into the religious houses, she visited the nunner- 
ies in person, taking her needlework with her, and passing the day in 
the society of the inmates. When travelling in Galicia, she attired her- 
self in the costume of the country, borrowing for that purpose the jewels 
and other ornaments of the ladies there, and returning them with lib- 
eral additions. By this condescending and captivating deportment, as 
well as by her higher qualities, she gained an ascendency over her tur- 
bulent subjects which no king of Spain could ever boast. 

She spoke the Castilian with much elegance and correctness. She 
had an easy fluency of discourse, which, though generally of a serious 
complexion, was occasionally seasoned with agreeable sallies, some of 
which have passed into proverbs. She was temperate even to abste- 
miousness in her diet, seldom or never tasting wine, and so frugal in her 
table, that the daily expenses for herself and family did not exceed the 
moderate sum of forty ducats. She was equally simple and economical 



SYLLABUS. 



317 



in her apparel. On all public occasions, indeed, she displayed a royal 
magnificence ; but she had no relish for it in private ; and she freely 
gave away her clothes and jewels as presents to her friends. Naturally 
of a sedate, though cheerful temper, she had little taste for the frivol- 
ous amusements which make up so much of a court life ; and, if she 
encouraged the presence of minstrels and musicians in her palace, it 
was to wean her young nobility from the coarser and less intellectual 
pleasures to which they were addicted. 

Among her moral qualities, the most conspicuous, perhaps, was her 
magnanimity. She betrayed nothing little or selfish in thought or 
action. Her schemes were vast, and executed in the same noble spirit 
in which they were conceived. She never employed doubtful agents or 
sinister measures, but the most direct and open policy. She scorned to 
avail herself of advantages offered by the perfidy of others. Where she 
had once given her confidence, she gave her hearty and steady support ; 
and she was scrupulous to redeem any pledge she had made to those 
who ventured in her cause, however unpopular. She sustained Ximenes * 
in all his obnoxious but salutary reforms. She seconded Columbus in 
the prosecution of his arduous enterprise, and shielded him from the 
calumny of his enemies. She did the same good service to her favorite, 
Gonsalvo de Cordova ; and the day of her death was felt, and, as it 
proved, truly felt, by both, as the last of their good fortune. Artifice 
and duplicity were so abhorrent to her character, and so averse from 
her domestic policy, that, when they appear in the foreign relations of 
Spain, it is certainly not imputable to her. 

Syllabus. 

The literary life of America dates from the beginning of the nineteenth 
century. The principal poets contemporary with Scott and Byron were 
Drake, Halleck, and Poe. Drake and Halleck were warm personal friends. 
Poe was morbid and unhappy. 

The older poets of the present day were known to the literary world 
before 1840. 

The prominent writers of prose were Cooper, the novelist ; Channing, 
theologian and essayist ; Irving, the most prominent writer of the time, and 
Prescott, the historian. 

* Confessor to Isabella. 



27* 



LONGFELLOW. 



Chapter XVII. 



The Age of Emerson. 

1850 to the Present Time. 

THIS period is marked with footsteps of steady progress in 
science, art, literature, and humanity. It is encouraging 
to see, the world over, that the most valuable product of intel- 
lectual culture is a higher moral culture, and that both are 
mainly the results of written or spoken thoughts. It is im- 
possible to estimate the value of literature — the refining in- 
fluence of its poetry, the thought quickened by its philosophy, 
the nobler action shaped by its oratory, and the kindlier sym- 
pathy induced by its stories of every-day life. 

Poets. 
LONGFELLOW. 

It is perhaps not too much to say that there never was a 
poet more widely loved than Hekry Wadsworth Long- 
fellow. The man was not less loved than his songs. All 
the genial spirit of his lays emanated from his own genial 
spirit. 

"All the many sounds of nature 
Borrowed sweetness from his singing, 
All the hearts of men were softened 
By the pathos of his music."* 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) was born at 



* Thus he sang of Hiawatha's poet-friend, and it now may be fitly said of himself. 

318 



THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



319 



Portland, Me. He graduated at Bowdoin College in 1825. A 
professorship of modern languages was offered him, and to 
further qualify himself for the position, he spent three years 
in France, Spain, Italy, and Germany. In 1829 he entered 
upon the duties of his professorship at Bowdoin. On the resig- 
nation of George Ticknor from the chair of modern languages 
at Harvard, Longfellow was elected to that position. Again 
he went abroad — this time to study the languages of the North. 
Beturning the next year, he assumed his professorship at Cam- 
bridge, in which position he remained until 1854. He still, 
however, continued to reside in Cambridge, in the " Craigie 
House," memorable not only as the Bevolutionary head-quar- 
ters of Washington, but as being the college quarters of several 
of the distinguished men of the country besides Longfellow.* 
Mr. Longfellow purchased the house in 1843, the same year in 
which he married Miss Apple ton. 

The care with which the poet prepared himself for every duty 
is clearly reflected in his writings. Could we sum up the daily 
labors of the hardest-working men, they would not seem more 
laborious than the work of our greatest literary men. While 
at Bowdoin as a student — consequently before his eighteenth 
year— Longfellow had written the Hymn of the Moravian Nans, 
Sunrise on the Hills, and The Spirit of Poetry, Many of his 
early works are reminiscences of foreign travels. Outre Mer, 
a Pilgrimage Beyond the Sea, and his translation of Coplas oZe 
Manrique (verses of Manrique f) appeared in 1835. Hyperion, 
a prose romance, was published in 1839, also a collection of 
poems called Voices of the Night. He was at this time contrib- 
uting to the " North American Be view " and to the " Knicker- 
bocker Magazine." In 1841 Ballads and other Poems was pub- 
lished, and in 1842, Poems on Slavery. His first drama, The 
Spanish Student, was written in 1843. The Belfry of Bruges 
and Other Poems followed in 1845. The same year he published 
The Poets and Poetry of Europe, with biographical sketches. 
Many of the translations he made himself. In 1847 the most 
celebrated of his poems, Evangeline, appeared, and in 1849, 



* Mrs. Craigie, when in reduced circumstances, let out rooms in the grand old 
mansion to the students of Harvard— to Everett, Worcester, Sparks, and others, 
f Jorge Manrique, a Spanish poet of the fifteenth century. 



320 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Kavanah, a Tale ; then followed a volume of poems called The 
Seaside and the Fireside, and in 1851 that most melodious drama, 
The Golden Legend. In 1855, Hiawatha, an Indian Edda, ap- 
peared, unrhymed, and with no attempt at alliteration even, 
the beautiful trochaic measure flowing on so softly that rhyme 
was not needed. Miles Standish was written in 1858, in the 
same measure as Evangeline. The Tales of a Wayside Inn 
was the next collection of poems. Flower-de-Luce and New 
England Tragedies appeared the same year (1863). Again Mr. 
Longfellow visited Europe, and, returning, published in 1870 
a translation of Dante' ] s Divina Comedia, and in 1872 his second 
drama, The Divine Tragedy. The Golden Legend, New Eng- 
land Tragedies, and The Divine Tragedy are published in a 
volume called Ghristus. Morituri Salutamus was a poem deliv- 
ered at Bowdoin College in 1879. 

BRYANT. 

One of the earliest poets of this century, yet one whom we 
love to think upon as our contemporary, was William Cullen 
Bryant (1794-1878). He was born in Cummington, Massa- 
chusetts, where he resided much of his life. He was remarka- 
ble as a child for his thoughtfulness, and in his tenth year par- 
aphrased the first chapter of the book of Job, and wrote other 
poems, which, though immature, were published in the "Hamp- 
shire Gazette. " Before he was fourteen he wrote the Embargo, 
apolitical satire, which became so popular that a second edition 
was demanded, when he produced with it several additional 
poems. His most popular poem, Thanatopsis was written at 
the age of eighteen, and To a Waterfowl, when he was twenty- 
one. Both show equal seriousness of thought. Thanatopsis 
is, as its name implies, a view of death. The youth of eighteen 
did not speculate on the hereafter ; he simply trusted, and 
herein lies the exceeding beauty of the poem. The last stanza 
is surcharged with the spirit of trust. Earth is described as 
the tomb of man, and the mountains, vales, and woods as the 
decorations of that tomb. The poem is material in its struct- 
ure, but none the less poetical. The fact that man's body 
shall mingle with the elements, and become part and parcel 
of the clod that covers him, does not stay the soul in its 



THE AGE OF EMERSON, 



321 



onward career. The lines To a Waterfowl, which followed soon, 
suggest the flight of a disembodied soul. 

In 1827 Bryant became editor of the "New York Evening 
Post," which position he held until the close of his life. He 
entered into every political conflict, and " never waited to catch 
the breath of popular opinion before flinging abroad his stand- 
ard." He was quick to perceive the right, and as ready to 
espouse it. 

His first visit to Europe was in 1834. Six times he travelled 
abroad. In 1845 he took up his residence at Eoslyn, Long Isl- 
and, where he spent most of his time until his death, varying 
it each year with short residences at the old homestead at 
Cummington, and at his city home in New York. Never 
feeling excused from labor, he began in his seventy-first year 
the translation of the Iliad, and in six years' time, in 1871, 
completed the Iliad and the Odyssey. The Flood of Years was 
written in his eighty-second year. Bryant's love of nature is 
everywhere visible in his writings. The woods were his great 
delight. There is sometimes a marked resemblance between 
Bryant and Thomson. No one can read Bryant's Forest Hymn 
and Thomson's Hymn to the Seasons without observing it. 
The Death of the Flowers shows the poet's close companionship 
with nature. Nothing could be more delicately accurate than 
the succession of flowers as they spring and fade before us in 
the beautiful lines : 

" The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
And the brier-rose and orchis died amid the summer glow ; 
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and 
glen." 

In one line he paints the peculiar lustre of the waters in the 
hazy light of autumn, and the line preceding it is almost equal 
in beauty, descriptive of the serene stillness of an Indian sum- 
mer day : 

" When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill." 

V 



322 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Waiting by the Gate is one of his later poems. In the serene 
majesty of his calm old age, he says : 

" And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me." 

WHITTIER. 

A strong, sweet singer, mellowing with every ripening year, 
is John Greenleaf Whittier (1807 ). A spirit of ear- 
nest conviction expresses itself in ringing tones against all 
forms of oppression. His later songs overflow with the fulness 
of thanksgiving, 

"And come like the benediction 
That follows after prayer." 

An insight into his early home life he himself gives in his 
poem Snow Bound. He was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts, 
but since 1840 has resided at Amesbury, in his native State. 
He is perhaps the only one of our poets that has not travelled 
abroad, but he has the happy faculty of conducting his readers 
over wide ranges of foreign lands, while he sits snugly at his 
own fireside. 

Whittier's style is thoroughly individual, and as recognizable 
as the footstep or voice of a friend. It often consists of unex- 
pected and just metaphors or of homely phrases, which through 
his touch become instinct with poetic life. 

No poet has more minutely observed nature, nor more truly 
painted her glowing colors or traced her subtler influences. 
From him we learn what his Barefoot Boy learned from the 
book of nature. 

He is eminently the poet of humanity. If there is less of the 
ring of steel in his later poems, there is more rich fulness in 
them. The bounty of the glowing autumn, the gracious plen- 
itude of Divine love, are reflected in his mellowed words, and 

all the jarring notes of life 

Seem blending in a psalm, 
And all the angles of its strife 

Slow rounding into calm. 



THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



323 



Among his earlier poems are Voices of Freedom, Songs of 
Labor, Ballads, etc. Later poems are, In War Times, Snow 
Bound, The Tent on the Beach, National Lyrics, Poems for Public 
Occasions, etc. 

James Bussell Lowell (1819 ) has given evidence of 

the highest creative genius, with happiest facility in expres- 
sion. His early satires display unmatched wit and brilliant 
humor. While not so popular as others, some of his poems 
must be regarded as the gems of American literature. Excell- 
ing in poetry he essayed criticism, and in that broad humane 
art produced some of the finest prose. In 1845 his Conver- 
sations on Some of the Old Poets appeared, which every lover 
of literature should read. Several years previous he had 
published a volume of poems, and subsequently other poems, 
among which are The Vision of Sir Launfal,* and A Fable for 
Critics— the latter an amusing and more or less just char- 
acterization of his brother poets. The Biglow Papers, a satire 
against the Mexican war and the slave power, was written in 
the Yankee dialect, and published in 1848. A second series of 
the Biglow Papers was written during the Civil War. This satire 
was pointed against the English nation for the neutral attitude 
assumed by her. Later poems of Mr. Lowell's are Under the 
Willows and The Cathedral. His best prose essays and criti- 
cisms are contained in Among my Books and My Study Window. 
Mr. Lowell was born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, and gradu- 
ated at Harvard in 1838. f In 1855 he succeeded Longfellow 
as Professor of Belles-Letters in that institution. In 1877 he 
was appointed United States Minister to Spain, and in 1880 
to England. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 ), like Lowell, was 

born at Cambridge, Massachusetts. He graduated at Harvard, 
and, having chosen the medical profession, was in 1847 elected 
to the Professorship of Anatomy in that university. Like 
Hood — like most humorous poets, indeed — he combines mirth 
and pathos in his nature, the one as sincere as the other. In 



* The Vision of Sir Launfal might be termed "the high-water mark" of American 
poetry. Some portions of it seem to be a response to Wordsworth's Ode to Immortality. 

f In 1844 Mr. Lowell was married to Miss Maria White, herself a poetess. She died 
in 1853. Her best known poem is the Alpine Sheep. 



324 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



poetry he is best known by his humorous poems and lyrics — 
The One-Hoss Shay, TJie Boys, Union and Liberty, Old Iron- 
sides, etc. He was one of the originators of the "Atlantic 
Monthly," to which he contributed, in its earliest stages, the 
Autocrat of the Breakfast- Table, a species of essay with a story 
interwoven. This was followed by the Professor at the Break- 
fast-Table, The Poet at the Breakfast- Table, and The Professor's 
Story (a novel), published afterwards under the title of Elsie Ven- 
ner (a novel). The Guardian Angel (a novel) appeared in 1867. 

The poetry of John Godfrey Saxe (1816 ) is char- 
acterized by keen wit, little softened with genial humor. 
Some of his poems— his travesties, especially — are the most 
brilliant in the language. 

Bayard Taylor (1825-1878), eminent as poet, traveller, 
and novelist, was born at Kennet Square, Pa. His expressed 
ambition u to enjoy as large a store of experience as this earth 
can furnish gives the key-note to his life. The poetic instinct 
was the strongest in his nature, and his poetry is a rich legacy 
to American literature. 

Success seemed to crown even his earliest endeavors. At 
the age of seventeen he became an apprentice in a printing- 
office at West Chester, devoting all of his leisure hours to study 
and improvement. During this time he wrote many poems, 
which he contributed to " Graham's Magazine " and " The New 
York Mirror." These were collected, and in 1844 published in 
a volume entitled Ximena. This little book met with a favorable 
reception, and with some advances made by leading journals, 
the young author was enabled to commence his series of travels. 
For two years he journeyed on foot through England, Scot- 
land, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, and France, and on his 
return to America published the result of his travels under 
the title of Views Afoot; or, Europe seen with Knapsack and 
Staff. In 1848, Mr. Taylor, who had already become known 
through the columns of the u New York Tribune," became 
permanently associated with that journal. Visiting California 
in 1849 and returning by way of Mexico, he communicated to 
the u Tribune " an account of his travels. These letters, after- 
wards collected, were entitled Eldorado. In 1851 he set out 
upon an Eastern tour, and his history of this is contained in 



THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



325 



the three works : A Journey to Central Africa; The Lands of 
the Saracens ; and India, China, and Japan. In 1856 he took a 
Northern journey through Sweden, Norway, Lapland, Dalma- 
tia, and Russia, of which he subsequently published graphic 
accounts. Other travels and sketches followed. 

The poems of Mr. Taylor after his first venture, Ximena, 
were Rhymes of Travel; The American Legend; Book of Ro- 
mances, Lyrics, and Songs; Poems of the Orient; Poems and 
Ballads; Poems of Home and Travel; The Poet's Journal; The 
Picture of St. John ; The Golden Wedding; The Ballad of Abra- 
ham Lincoln; Lars, a Pastoral of Norway; Home Pastorals, 
Ballads, and Lyrics; The National Ode (July 4, 1876). The 
Echo Club is a collection of poems written in imitation of con- 
temporary poets, and connected by a dialogue of prose, con- 
taining wholesome, kindly criticism. 

Mr. Taylor was as familiar with the literature of Germany 
as with that of his own tongue, and his translation of 
Goethe's Faust is the finest English translation. He also 
translated from the Swedish Frithiofs Saga. 

The novels from this author are Hannah Thurston; John 
Godfrey's Fortunes; The Story of IZennett, and Joseph and his 
Friend. Poetry, however, was his peculiar realm. As a color- 
ist, he especially excelled. The glory of our autumnal forests 
furnished him with unfading hues. The last work of this 
poet was the drama entitled Prince Beukalim. Other dramas 
had preceded this ; The Prophet, a tragedy, is a five-act drama, 
founded^ on the early history of Mormonism. The Masque of 
the Gods, a drama of three dialogues, was published in 1872. 

Under the administration of President Hayes, Mr. Taylor 
was appointed United States Minister to Germany, where he 
died in 1878. 

Thomas Buchanan Read (1822-1872), like Bayard Taylor, 
was born in Chester County, Pa. Nurtured among the rugged 
hills of his native place, and beside the historic waters of the 
Brandywine, his young imagination was filled with pictures of 
ideal beauty and with the heroic traditions of the past. Blindly 
groping, as true-born poets have often done, for some avenue 
of expression, he sought first to give his ideas form in sculpt- 
ure and painting. His best thoughts, however, found expres- 
28 



326 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



sion in poetry, and, although he wrote comparatively little, 
some of his poems are gems of the language. The Closing 
Scene contains lines not surpassed by Gray 's Elegy. He has 
caught the very spirit of autumn, as so many of our American 
poets have done. His war lyric, Sheridan's Bide, has a popu- 
larity as great as " Marco Bozzaris." His longest poem is the 
Wagoner of the Alleghenies. In pursuit of art, much of this 
poet's life was spent in Italy. He died in New York just after 
his return from Rome. 

George H. Boker (1824 ) was born in Philadelphia. 

His writings are mainly of a dramatic nature. Calaynos is a 
tragedy, founded on the hostility between the Moorish and 
Spanish races. The scene is laid in Spain. Anne Boleyn is 
another tragedy, likewise Leonor de Guzman and Francesca da 
Bimini. Other dramas are The Widow's Marriage, The Be- 
trothal, The Podesta's Daughter, a dramatic sketch, etc. Among 
his principal poems are The Ivory Carver, The Black Begiment, 
A Ballad of Sir John Franklin, The Book of the Bead, etc. 

Mr. Boker was appointed United States Minister to Constan- 
tinople in 1871, and was afterwards transferred to St. Peters- 
burg. 

Many of our writers who have given evidence of the best 
poetic ability have, like Lowell, been beguiled into other paths 
of literature, enriching both prose and poetry. Among these 
may be named J. T. Trowbridge, T. B. Aldrich, E. C. 
Stedman, and Richard Henry Stoddard. 

The Novelists, Etc. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1805-1864) is the acknowledged 
head* of American novelists. He was born at Salem, Mass., 
and graduated at Bowdoin College in the same class with 
Longfellow. He was for a time associated with the " commu- 
nity " at " Brook Farm," where so many of the literati of that 



* Harriet Beecher Stowe (1812 ), through the writing of Uncle Tom's Cabin, 

became at the time the most popular author in existence. This story, so full of 
pathos, so touchingly real in its delineations, found readers in every part of the civ- 
ilized world. It was translated into every language that possessed a literature. Her 
other stories were less successful, or rather were dimmed in the light of her first 
novel. Uncle Tom's Cabin was finished in 1852. 



THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



327 



time were to be found. In 1843 he took up his residence in 
the u 01d Manse" at Concord, celebrated in his sketches. 
After filling several government offices, he was appointed by 
President Pierce, from 1853 to 1857, as Consul at Liverpool. 
He had published various short stories and sketches, which, 
when collected in 1837, he called The Twice-Told Tales. During 
his three years' residence at the " Old Manse " he wrote sketches 
for the various magazines, which were collected in 1847 under 
the title of Mosses from an Old Manse. His novels, which were 
published afterwards, are The Scarlet Letter, The House of Seven 
Gables, The Blithedale Romance, and The Marble Faun. 

Hawthorne takes first rank among American prose writers. 
In a surprising manner he blends the morbid with the perfectly 
healthy element. He is not in the broadest sense a satirist, 
yet he lays bare the follies of mankind ; and so delicate is his 
touch that you perceive his own shrinking, sensitive nature. 

The present age is remarkable for its production of excellent 
short stories, sketches, and studies, and for its wealth of Chil- 
dren's Literature. The numerous magazines of the country 
are usually the repositories of these productions. 

Humorists. 

There is but one department of American literature that can 
with any propriety be termed distinctively "American," and 
that is the department of humor. Certain conditions, phrases, 
etc., only understood by the people of a nation, are humorous 
in proportion as they are justly appreciated, consequently each 
nationality must be in this feature of its literature more or less 
u peculiar." There is, however, a broad and universal humor 
appreciable to all. When Emerson speaks of getting " people 
out of the quadruped state, washed, clothed, and set up on end," 
it is understood by all regardless of locality. But when the 
humor consists mainly of idiomatic irregularities, it is of ne- 
cessity peculiar. In reviewing American literature, we find a 
fine vein of humor in it from nearly the earliest times. 

Historians. 

America, like every other country, has produced her triad 
of historians — Bancroft, Prescott, and Motley. The 



328 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



greatest historian of the affairs of this country is George Ban- 
croft (1800 ). By diligent study and careful reflection, 

he prepared himself for his great work, The History of the United 
States. The first volume was completed in 1834, the last in 
1874, the author during the interval having been actively en- 
gaged in the affairs of government as Secretary of the Navy 
and as Minister to England and Prussia. 

Mr. Bancroft was born at Worcester, Mass. He entered 
Harvard at thirteen, and, having graduated, went to Gbttingen, 
where he studied two years, travelling afterwards through 
Europe, and returning to America one of the most accomplished 
scholars of the age. 

Prescott, already mentioned as contemporary with Irving, 
wrote his History of Ferdinand and Isabella, Conquest of Mexico, 
and Conquest of Peru, before 1850. His last work, The History 
of the Beign of Philip the Second, he was engaged in writing at 
the time of his death in 1859. 

John Lothrop Motley (1814-1877) was born at Dorches- 
ter, Mass. Like Bancroft, he was educated at Harvard, studied 
two years at Gottingen, and twice filled the office of foreign 
minister, once to Austria and once to England. His first work 
was The Bise of the Dutch Bepublic, which, on its first appear- 
ance in 1856, became instantly popular. This was followed by 
the History of the United Netherlands. In 1874 he published 
The Life of John of Barneveld. 

Among the numerous periodicals of this country may be 
named "The Knickerbocker Magazine," founded in New York 
by C. F. Hoffman in 1832, and continuing in existence until 1860. 
"Harper's Magazine" (New York) was established in 1850 ; 
" The Atlantic Monthly " (Boston), 1857 ; "Lippincott's Maga- 
zine" (Philadelphia), 1868 ; " Scribner's Monthly," now "The 
Century " (New York), 1870. Others more recently established 
are " Old and New " (Boston), " The Overland Monthly " (San 
Francisco), and the "Lakeside Monthly" (Chicago). "Our 
Continent " is a weekly periodical established in 1882 by Albion 
W. Tourgee. Magazines consisting of reprints from foreign 
periodicals or writings . are " LittelPs Living Age" (Boston, 
1844), and the " Eclectic Magazine " (New York, 1844). 



THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



329 



Magazines for children, with their exquisite illustrations 
blending artistic with literary culture, are an important feature 
in the literature and the education of the day. Prominent 
among these are " St. Nicholas," "Wide Awake," " Young 
Folks' Magazine," " Harper's Young People," "The Youth's 
Companion," etc. 

EMERSON. 

Ealph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) stands in a realm of 
his own creating. So entirely unique are his writings, and so 
broad and universal his mind, that he cannot with propriety be 
classed in any one department of literature. Poetry was the 
very essence of his nature, yet he cared but little for the poet's 
art. In his prose essays he became the teacher of teachers. 
He kindled thought, and that by a stroke as rapid as a flash of 
lightning. His phrases — spasmodic, irregular, sometimes in- 
harmonious — were results of a process of thought unexpressed 
to the reader, but as natural to the philosophic mind as elabo- 
rated thoughts to a less gifted writer, hence the aphorisms, the 
epigrammatic style of philosophers. They coin the precious 
thought and it becomes common currency. 

Emerson was born in Boston and graduated at Harvard. 
The most of his life was spent at Concord, Mass. He started in 
life as a Unitarian minister, but left the pulpit in 1832. After 
travelling in Europe he entered the lecturing field. His first 
orations were Man Thinking and Literary Ethics. His first 
essay, Nature, made thoughtful men and women think more 
profoundly. His published works are several volumes of lect- 
ures and poems, Bepresentative Men, English Traits, The Con- 
duct of Life, Society and Solitude, Letters, Social Aims. " Parnas- 
sus" was a selection of poems compiled from many years' 
reading. 

It is impossible to estimate the value to his generation 
of Emerson's life and teachings. He was as careless of his 
own fame as Shakespeare was of his. Yet it is not difficult to 
foresee that to coming generations his wisdom will be treasured 
as that of the sage, the seer, and the poet. As Ben Jonson 
sang of Shakespeare : 

" He was not for an (one) age, but for all time." 

28* 



330 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Our literature, as it stands, is an inheritance without blemish 
or stain. No poet has left an impure thought, no immorality 
of conduct has been sanctioned by an American novelist. 
Nothing lives but that which will ennoble and refine. 



Illustrations of the Literature of the Age of 
Emerson. 

LONGFELLOW. 

Children. 

What the leaves are to the forest, 

With the light and air for food, 
Ere their sweet and tender juices 

Have been hardened into wood, — 

That to the world are children; 

Through them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

That reaches the trunk below. 

Come to me, O ye children! 

And whisper in my ear 
What the birds and the winds are singing 

In your sunny atmosphere. 

Ye are better than all the ballads 

That ever were sung or said, 
For ye are living poems, # 

And all the rest are dead.* 



The Children's Hour. 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to lower, 

Comes a pause in the day's occupation, 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 



* The poem consists of nine stanzas. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



From my study I see in the lamplight, 
Descending the broad hall-stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence ; 

Yet I know by their merry eyes 
They are plotting and planning together 

To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall I 

By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall! 

They climb up into my turret, 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine, 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old mustache as I am, 
Is not a match for you all! 

I have you fast in my fortress, 
And will not let you depart, 

But put you down into the dungeon, 
In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin 

And moulder in dust away! 

The Builders. 

All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these walls of Time; 

Some with massive deeds and great, 
Some with ornament of rhyme. 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Nothing useless is, or low ; 

Each thing in its place is best; 
And what seems but idle show 

Strengthens and supports the rest. 

For the structure that we raise 

Time is with materials filled; 
Our to-days and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion these, 
Leave no yawning gaps between ; 

Think not, because no man sees, 
Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art 

Builders wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part, 

For the gods see everywhere. 

Let us do our work as well, 
Both the unseen and the seen ; 

Make the house where gods may dwell 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete, 
Standing in these walls of Time — 

Broken stairways, where the feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 

With a firm and ample base; 
And ascending and secure 

Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets, where the eye 

Sees the world as one vast plain, 
And one boundless reach of sky. 

The Eainy Day. 

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary. 

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 

And the day is dark and dreary. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary. 

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 

And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining ; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining. 

Thy fate is the common fate of all : 

Into each life some rain must fall; 
Some days must be dark and dreary. 

The Castle by the Sea. 

(Translated from the German of Uhland.) 

"Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 
That Castle by the Sea? 
Golden and red above it 
The clouds float gorgeously. 

"And fain it would stoop downward 
To the mirrored wave below; 
And fain it would soar upward 
In the evening's crimson glow. 

" Well have I seen that castle, 
That castle by the sea, 
And the moon above it standing, 
And the mist rise solemnly. 

"The winds and the waves of ocean, 
Had they a merry chime? 
Didst thou hear from those lofty chambers 
The harp and the minstrel's rhyme? 

"The winds and the waves of ocean 
They rested quietly, 
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 
And tears came to mine eye. 

"And saw'st thou on the turrets 
The king and his royal bride? 
And the wave of their crimson mantles? 
And the golden crown of pride? 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



" Led they not forth in rapture 
A beauteous maiden there? 
Kesplendent as the morning sun, 
Beaming with golden hair? 

"Well saw I the ancient parents, 
Without the crown of pride; 
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe, 
No maiden was by their side ! " 

From The Two Locks of Hair. 

(Translated from the German.) 

Two locks — and they are wondrous fair — 

Left me that vision mild ; 
The brown is from the mother's hair, 

The blonde is from the child. 

And when I see that lock of gold, 

Pale grows the evening-red; 
And when the dark lock I behold, 

I wish that I were dead. 

The Arrow and the Song. 

I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For who has sight so keen and strong 
That it can follow the flight of song. 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 

Sandalphon. 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
In the Legends the Kabbins have told, 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



Of the limitless realms of the air, — 
Have you read it, — the marvellous story 
Of Sandalphon, the angel of Glory, 

Sandalphon, the angel of Prayer ? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial, he waits, 

With his feet on the ladder of light, 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 
By Jacob was seen as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night? 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chant only one hymn, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress ; 
Expire in their rapture and wonder, 
As harp strings are broken asunder 

By music they throb to express. 

But serene in the rapturous throng, 
Unmoved by the rush of the song, 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the deathless 
Sandalphon stands listening breathless 

To sounds that ascend from below ; — 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 
From the souls that entreat and implore, 

In the fervor and passion of prayer; 
From the hearts that are broken with losses, 
And weary with dragging the crosses 

Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red; 
And beneath the great arch of the portal, 
Through the streets of the City Immortal, 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show, 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Of the ancient Kabbinical lore ; 
Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 
The beautiful, strange superstition, 

But haunts me and holds me the more. 

When I look from my window at night, 
And the welkin above is all white, 

All throbbing and panting with stars; 
Among them majestic is standing 
Sandalphon, the angel, expanding 

His pinions in nebulous bars. 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 

Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, 

The frenzy and fire of the brain, 
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, 

To quiet its fever and pain. 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

Thaxatopsis. 

To him who in the love of Nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, — 
Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go 

To mix forever with the elements, 

To be a brother to the insensible rock 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 

Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor could'st thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there: 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep: the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase. 
29 W 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, 

And make their bed with thee. As the long train 

Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 

In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, 

And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, — 

Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, 

By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. 

So live, that, when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go — not like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who draws the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

From Green Kiver. 
When breezes are soft and skies are fair, 
I steal an hour from study and care, 
And hie me away to the woodland scene, 
Where wanders the stream with waters of green, 
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink 
Had given their stain to the wave they drink; 
And they whose meadows it murmurs through, 
Have named the stream from its own fair hue. 
•x- * * * * ■* 

Oh, loveliest there the spring days come, 
With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum; 
The flowers of summer are fairest there, 
And freshest the breath of the summer air; 
And sweetest the golden autumn day 
In silence and sunshine glides away. . . 
And thy own wild music gushing out 
With mellow murmur or fairy shout, 
From dawn to the blush of another day, 
Like traveller singing along his way. 

That fairy music I never hear, 

Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear, 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



389 



And mark them winding away from sight, 
Darkened with shade or flashing with light, 
While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings, 
And the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings, 
But I wish that fate had left me free 
To wander these quiet haunts with thee, 
Till the eating cares of earth should depart, 
And the peace of the scene pass into my heart; 
And I envy thy stream, as it glides along, 
Through its beautiful banks in a trance of song. 

The Death of the Flowers. 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead : 

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 

And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and 
stood 

In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 
Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; 
But on the hill the golden rod, and the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on 
men, 

And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and 
glen. 

And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are 
still, 

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, 

The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, 

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. 



340 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, 
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side : 
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: 
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 

From The Battle-Field. 

Soon rested those who fought; but thou 

Who minglest in the harder strife 
For truths which men receive not now, 

Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year ; 

A wild and many-weapon' d throng 

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 

And blench not at thy chosen lot; 
The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown — yet faint thou not, 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 
For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 

The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crush' d to earth, shall rise again; 

The eternal years of God are hers; 
But error, wounded, writhes in pain, 

And dies among his worshippers. 

Waiting by the Gate. 

Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by, 
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal shadow lie, 
While streams the evening sunshine on quiet wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. 

The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight, 
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night ; 
I hear the wood-thrush piping one mellow descant more, 
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of day is o'er. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 341 



Behold the portals open, and o'er the threshold, now, 
There steps a weary one with a pale and furrowed brow; 
His count of years is full, his allotted task is wrought ; 
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not. 

In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour 
Of human strength and action, man's courage and his power. 
I muse while still the wood-thrush sings down the golden day, 
And as I look and listen the sadness wears away. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws 
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes ; 
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair, 
Moves mournfully away from amidst the young and fair. 

Oh, glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! 
Oh, crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze ! 
Oh, breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air 
Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies we know not where ! 

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn ; 
But still the sun shines round me : the evening bird sings on, 
And I again am soothed, and, beside the ancient gate, 
In the soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and wait. 

Once more the gates are opened ; an infant group go out, 
The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the sprightly shout. 
Oh, frail, frail tree of Life, that upon the greensward strows 
Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind that blows ! 

So come from every region, so enter, side by side, 
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of pride. 
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between those pillars gray, 
And prints of little feet, mark the dust along the way. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear, 
And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing near, 
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye 
Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die. 

I mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, within my heart, 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to depart; 
And, in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. 
29* 



342 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



J. G. WHITTIBR. 

From The Crisis. 

(Written on learning the terms of the treaty with Mexico.) 

. . . O Vale of Kio Bravo ! let thy simple children weep, 
Close watch above their holy fire let maids of Pecos keep; 
Let Taos send her cry across Sierra Madre's pines, 
And Algodones toll her bells amidst her corn and vines, 
For lo! the pale land-seekers come, with eager eyes of gain, 
Wide scattering, like the bison herds on broad Salada's plain. 
****** * *** 
Forever ours! for good or ill, on us the burden lies, 
God's balance, watched by angels, is hung across the skies; 
Shall Justice, Truth, and Freedom turn the poised and trembling 
scale ? 

Or shall the Evil triumph, and robber Wrong prevail? 

Shall the broad land o'er which our flag in starry splendor waves, 

Forego through us its freedom, and bear the tread of slaves? 

The day is breaking in the East of which the prophets told, 
And brightens up the sky of time, the Christian Age of Gold ; 
Old Might to Eight is yielding, battle-blade to clerkly pen, 
Earth's monarchs are her peoples, and her serfs stand up as men. 
The isles rejoice together, in a day are nations born, 
And the slave walks free in Tunis, and by Stamboul's Golden Horn. 

Is this, O countrymen of mine! a day for us to sow 

The soil of new-gained empire with slavery's seeds of woe ? 

********** 

Great Heaven ! Is this our mission ? End in this the prayers and 

tears, 

The toil, the strife, the watchings of our younger, better years ? 
Still as the Old World rolls in light, shall ours in shadow turn, 
A beamless chaos, cursed of God, through outer darkness borne? 
Where the far nations looked for light, a blackness in the air, — 
Where for words of hope they listened, the long wail of despair. 

The crisis presses on us ; face to face with us it stands ; 

With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx in Egypt's sands; 

This day we fashion destiny, our web of fate we spin, 

This day, for all hereafter, choose we holiness or sin. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 343 



From the Song of the Free. 

If we have whispered truth, 

Whisper no longer ; 
Speak as the tempest does, 

Sterner and stronger. 
God and our charter's right, 

Freedom forever ! 
Truce with oppression, 

Never! O, never! 

From Snow-bound. 

So all night long the storm raved on : — 

And, when the second morning shone, 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 

The blue walls of the firmament, 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers 

Rose up where sty or corn- crib stood, 

Or garden wall, or belt of wood; 

A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof, 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 

A prompt, decisive man, no breath 

Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" 

Well pleased, for when did farmer-boy 

Count such a summons less than joy? 

Our buskins on our feet we drew; 

With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, 

To guard our necks and ears from snow, 

We cut the solid whiteness through. 

* * * * *■ * 



344 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



We reached the barn with merry din, 
And roused the prisoned brutes within. 
The old horse thrust his long head out, 
And, grave with wonder, gazed about. 
The cock his lusty greeting said, 
And forth his speckled harem led ; 
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, 
And mild reproach of hunger looked. 
The horned patriarch of the sheep, 
Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, 
Shook his sage head with gesture mute, 
And emphasized with stamp of foot. 
****** 
As night drew on, and from the crest 
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, 
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 
From sight beneath the smothering bank. 
We piled, with care, our nightly stack 
Of wood against the chimney-back; 
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, 
And on its top the stout back-stick ; 
The knotty forestick laid apart, 
And filled between with curious art 
The ragged brush ; then, hovering near, 
We watched the first red blaze appear; 
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, 
Until the old rude -fashioned room 
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom. 
****** 
O Time and Change! — with hair as gray 
As was my sire's that winter's day, 
How strange it seems, with so much gone 
Of life and love, to still live on ! 
Ah, brother ! only I and thou 
Are left of all that circle now, — 
The dear home faces whereupon 
That fitful firelight paled and shone. 
Henceforward, listen as we will, 
The voices of that hearth are still; 
Look where we may, the wide earth o'er, 
Those lighted faces smile no more. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



345 



We tread the paths their feet have worn, 
We sit beneath their orchard-trees, 
We hear, like them, the hum of bees 
And rustle of the bladed corn; 
We turn the pages that they read, 
Their written words we linger o'er, 
But in the sun they cast no shade, 
No voice is heard, no sign is made, 
No step is on the conscious floor! 
Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust 
(Since He who knows our need is just), 
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must, 
•x- * * * # 

We sped the time with stories old, 
Wrought puzzles out and riddles told, 
Or stammered from our school-book lore, 
"The chief of Gambia's golden shore." 

* * * * * 
Our father rode again his ride 

On Memphremagog's wooded side; 
Sat down again to moose and samp 
In trapper's hut and Indian camp. 

* * ■* x * 
Our mother, while she turned her wheel 
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, 
Told how the Indian hordes came down 
At midnight on Cochecho town, 

And how her own great-uncle bore 
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 
Recalling, in her fitting phrase, 
So rich, and picturesque, and free, 
(The common unrhymed poetry 
Of simple life and country ways,) 
The story of her early days. — 

* *■ * * * 
Our uncle, innocent of books, 

Was rich in lore of fields and brooks. 

* * * * * 
Next the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer 
And voice in dreams I see and hear, — 
Who, lonely, homeless, not the less 
Found peace in love's unselfishness, 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



And welcome wheresoe'er she went, 
A calm and gracious element, 
Whose presence seemed the sweet income 
And womanly atmosphere of home, — 
Called up her girlhood memories — 
The huskings and the apple-bees, 
The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, 
Weaving through all the poor details 
And homespun warp of circumstance 
A golden woof-thread of romance. 

* * * * * * 
There, too, our elder sister plied 

Her evening task the stand beside; 

A full, rich nature, free to trust, 

Truthful, and almost sternly just, 

Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act 

And make her generous thought a fact, 

Keeping, with many a light disguise, 

The secret of self-sacrifice. 

O heart sore tried ! thou hast the best 

That Heaven itself could give thee — rest, 

Eest from all bitter thoughts and things! 
How many a poor one's blessing went 
With thee beneath the low green tent, 

Whose curtain never outward swings! 

* * * * * * 

As one who held herself a part 
Of all she saw, and let her heart 

Against the household bosom lean, 
Upon the motley-braided mat 
Our youngest and our dearest sat, 
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, 

Now bathed within the fadeless green 
And holy peace of Paradise. 

From The Eternal Goodness. 

I know not where his islands lift 
Their fronded palms in air; 

I only know I cannot drift 
Beyond his love and care. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



The Barefoot Boy. 

Blessings on thee, little man, 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 
With the sunshine on thy face, 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace: 
From my heart I give thee joy ! 
I was once a barefoot boy. 

Prince thou art — the grown-up man 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-dollared ride ! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
Thou hast more than he can buy, 
In the reach of ear and eye — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy : 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

Oh, for boyhood's painless play ; 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day ; 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules ; 
Knowledge never learned of schools, 
Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
Of the wild flower's time and place, 
Flight of fowl and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood ; 
How the tortoise bears his shell; 
How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
And the ground-mole sinks his well. 
How the robin feeds her young ; 
How the oriole's nest is hung; 
W T here the whitest lilies blow; 
Where the freshest berries grow; 
W T here the ground-nut trails its vine ; 
W T here the wood-grape's clusters shine: 
Of the black wasp's cunning way, — 
Mason of his walls of clay, — 
And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artisans !— 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



For, eschewing books and tasks, 
Nature answers all lie asks; 
Hand in hand with her he walks, 
Face to face with her he talks, 
Part and parcel of her joy, — 
Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 

Oh, for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw, . 
Me, their master, waited for. 
I was rich in flowers and trees, 
Humming-birds and honey-bees ; 
For my sport the squirrel played ; 
Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight 
Through the day and through the night, 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talked with me from fall to fall. 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond; 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond; 
Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides! 
Still, as my horizon grew, 
Larger grew my riches too ; 
All the world I saw or knew, 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 

Oh, for festal dainties spread, 
Like my bowl of milk and bread, — 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 
O'er me, like a regal tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; 
And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 



LITER A TUBE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



349 



I was monarch : pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy ! 

Cheerily, then, my little man, 
Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
'Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison-cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work be shod, 
Made to tread the mills of toil, 
Up and down in ceaseless moil: 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground; 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou could' st know thy joy, 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 

My Triumph. 

The autumn-time has come; 
On woods that dream of bloom, 
And over purpling vines 
The low sun fainter shines. 

The aster-flower is failing, 
The hazel's gold is paling ; 
Yet over head more near 
The eternal stars appear! 

And present gratitude 
Insures the future's good, 
And for the things I see 
I trust the things to be. 
* # * * 
Let the thick curtain fall; 
I better know than all 



30 



850 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



How little I have gained, 
How vast the unattained. 

* * * * 
Others shall sing the song; 
Others shall right the wrong, — 
Finish what I begin, 

And all I fail of win. 

What matter, I or they? 
Mine or another's day, 
So the right word be said, 
And all life sweeter made? 

Hail to the coming singers! 
Hail to the brave light-bringers ! 
Forward I reach and share 
All that they sing and dare. 

The airs of heaven blow o'er me; 
A glory shines before me 
Of what mankind shall be, — 
Pure, generous, brave and free. 

* * * # * 
King bells in unreared steeples, 
The joy of unborn peoples ! 
Sound trumpets far off blown, 
Your triumph is my own. 

Longfellow's Last Birthday. 

With a glory of winter sunshine 

Over his locks of gray, 
In the old historic mansion 

He sat on his last birthday, 

With his books and his pleasant pictures 
And his household and his kin, 

While a sound as of myriads singing 
From far and near stole in. 

It came from his own fair city, 
From the prairie's boundless plain, 

From the Golden Gate of sunset, 
And the cedarn woods of Maine. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



351 



And his heart grew warm within him 
And his moistening eyes grew dim, 

For he knew that his country's children 
Were singing the songs of him; 

The lays of his life's glad morning, 
The psalms of his evening time, 

Whose echoes shall float forever 
On the winds of every clime. 

All their beautiful consolations, 
Sent forth like birds of cheer, 

Came flocking back to his windows, 
And sang in the Poet's ear. 

Grateful, but solemn and tender, 

The music rose and fell, 
With a joy akin to sadness 

And a greeting like farewell. 

With a sense of awe he listened 
To the voices sweet and young; 

The last of earth and the first of heaven 
Seemed in the songs they sung. 

And waiting a little longer 

For the wonderful change to come, 

He heard the Summoning Angel 
Who calls God's children home! 

And to him, in a holier welcome, 
Was the mystical meaning given 

Of the words of the blessed Master: 
" Of such is the kingdom of Heaven 1 " 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

From The Present Crisis. 

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, 

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side. 

Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight, 

Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right, 

And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light. 

* ******* 



352 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, — they were souls that stood alone, 

While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone, 

Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline 

To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, 

By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design. 

From The Biglow Papers. 
A Letter 

From Mr. Ezekiel Biglow of Jaalam to the Hon. Joseph T. Buckingham, 
Editor of the Boston Courier, inclosing a poem of his son, Mr. Hosea 
Biglow. 

Jaylem, june, 1846. 
Mister Eddyter : Our Hosea wuz down to Boston last week, and 
he see a cruetin sarjunt a struttin round as popler as a hen with 1 
chicking, with 2 fellers a drummin and fifin arter him like all nater. 
the sarjunt he thout Hosea hed n't gut his i teeth cut cos he looked a 
kindo's though he'd jist come down, so he cal'lated to hook him in, but 
Hosy wood n't take none o' his sarse for all he hed much as 20 Rooster's 
tales stuck onto his hat and eenamost enuf brass a bobbin up and down 
on his shoulders and figured onto his coat and trousis, let alone wut 
nater hed sot in his featers, to make a 6 pounder out on. 

wal, Hosea he com home considerabal riled, and arter I'd gone to 
bed I heern Him a thrashin round like a short-tailed Bull in fli-time. 
The old Woman ses she to me ses she, Zekle, ses she, our Hosee 's gut the 
chollery or suthin anuther ses she, don't you Bee skeered, ses I, he's oney 
arnakin pottery ses i, he 's oilers on hand at that ere busynes like Da & 
martin, and shure enuf, cum mornin, Hosy he cum down stares full chizzle, 
hare on eend and cote tales fly in, and sot rite of to go reed his varses to 
Parson Wilbur, bein he haint aney grate shows o' book larnin himself, 
bimeby he cum back and sed the parson wuz dreffle tickled with 'em as 
i hoop you will Be, and said they wuz True grit. 

Ez fer war, I call it murder, — 

There you have it plain an' flat ; 
I don't want to go no furder 

Than my Testyment for that ; 
God hez sed so plump and fairly, 

It's ez long ez it is broad, 
An' you've gut to get up airly 

Ef you want to take in God. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 353 



' Taint your eppyletts an' feathers 

Make the thing a grain more right ; 
'Taint a follerin' your bell-wethers 

Will excuse ye in his sight ; 
Ef you take a sword an' dror it, 

An' go stick a feller thru, 
Guv'ment aint to answer fer it, 

God '11 send the bill to you. 

Wut's the use o' ineetin' -goin' 

Every Sabbath, wet or dry, 
Ef it's right to go amowin' 

Feller-men like oats an' rye? 
I dunno but wut it's pooty 

Trainin' round in bobtail coats, — 
But it 's curus Christian dooty 

This ere cuttin' folks's throats. 

From A Fable for Critics. 

There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one 
Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on. 

* * -x- * * -x- -x- 
There are persons mole-blind to the soul's make and style, 
Who insist on a likeness 'twixt him and Carlyle ; — 

To compare him with Plato would be vastly fairer. 
Carlyle 's the more burly, but E. is the rarer. 

* * * * * -x- 
C. shows you how every-day matters unite 

With the dim transdiurnal recesses of night, — 
While E., in a plain, preternatural way, 
Makes mysteries matters of mere every day. 

* * * -x- * * 
To the men he thinks worthy he frankly accords 
The design of a white marble statue in words. 

* * * -x- -x- -x- 
There is Bryant, as quiet, as cool, and as dignified 
As a smooth, silent iceberg, that never is ignified 
Save when, by reflection, 'tis kindled o' nights 

With a semblance of flame by the chill Northern Lights. 
He may rank (Griswold says so) first bard of your nation; 
There's no doubt that he stands in supreme ice-olation. 
Your topmost Parnassus he may set his heel on, 
But no warm applauses come peal following peal on. 
30 * X 



354 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



He's too smooth and too polished to hang any zeal on. 
Unqualified merits, I '11 grant, if you choose, he has 'em, 
But he lacks the one merit of kindling enthusiasm. 
If he stir you at all, it's just, on my soul, 
Like being stirred up with the very North Pole. 

But, my dear little bardlings, don't prick up your ears, 
Nor suppose I would rank you and Bryant as peers; 
If I call him an iceberg, I don't mean to say 
There's nothing in that which is grand in its way. 
He is almost the one of your poets that knows 
How much grace, strength, and dignity lie in repose. 

There is Whittier, whose swelling and vehement heart 
Strains the strait-breasted drab of the Quaker apart, 
And reveals the live man, still supreme and erect, 
Underneath the bemummying wrappers of sect. 

* * * * * * 

Let his mind once get head in its favorite direction, 
And the torrent of verse bursts the dam of reflection. 
While borne with the rush of the metre along, 
The poet may chance to go right or go wrong, 
Content with the whirl and delirium of song. 

* * * * 4 * * 

Our Quaker leads off metaphysical fights, — 
For reform and whatever they call human rights; 
Both singing and striking in front of the war, 
And hitting his foes with the mallet of Thor. 

* *■ * * * * 

All honor and praise to the right-hearted bard 
Who was true to the voice when such service was hard ; 
Who himself was so free, he dared sing for the slave 
When to look but a protest in silence was brave. 

There is Hawthorne, with genius so shrinking and rare 
That you hardly at first see the strength that is there. 

* * * * * * 

There comes Poe, with his raven, like Barnaby Eudge, 
Three-fifths of him genius and two-fifths sheer fudge ; 
Who talks like a book of iambs and pentameters 
In a way to make people of common sense damn metres; 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



Who has written some things quite the best of their kind, 

But the heart somehow seems all squeezed out by the mind. 

Who — but, heyday ! Messieurs Mathews and Poe, 

You must n't fling mud-balls at Longfellow so. 

Does it make a man worse that his character's such 

As to make his friends love him (as you think) too much? 

Why there is not a bard at this moment alive 

More willing than he that his fellows should thrive; 

While you are abusing him thus, even now 

He would help either one of you out of a slough. 

Deduct all you can, that still keeps you at bay, 

Why he'll live till men weary of Collins and Gray. 

* * * * * * 

What ! Irving ! thrice welcome, warm heart and fine brain ! 

You bring back the happiest spirit from Spain, 

And the gravest sweet humor that ever was there 

Since Cervantes met death in his gentle despair. 

Nay, don't be embarrass' d, nor look so beseeching, 

I sha'n't run directly against my own preaching, 

And, having just laugh' d at their Kaphaels and Dantes, 

Go to setting you up beside matchless Cervantes; 

But allow me to speak what I honestly feel; — 

To a true poet-heart add the fun of Dick Steele, 

Throw in all of Addison minus the chill, 

With the whole of that partnership's stock and good-will, 

Mix well, and, while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell, 

The " fine old English gentleman ; " — simmer it well ; 

Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain, 

That only the finest and clearest remain: 

Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives 

From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves 

And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving 

A name either English or Yankee — just Irving. 

The First Snow-Fall. 

The snow had begun in the gloaming, 

And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 

With a silence deep and white. 

Every pine, and fir, and hemlock, 
Bore ermine too dear for an earl, 



356 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



And the poorest twig on the elm-tree 
Was ridged inch-deep with pearl. 

From sheds new roofed with Carrara 
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow ; 

The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, 
And still fluttered down the snow. 

I stood and watched by the window 

The noiseless work of the sky, 
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, 

Like brown leaves whirling by. 

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn, 
Where a little headstone stood ; 

How the flakes were folding it gently, 
As did robins the babes in the wood. 

Up spoke our own little Mabel, 

Saying, " Father, who makes it snow ? n 

And I told of the good All-father 
Who cares for us here below. 

Again I looked at the snow-fall, 
And thought of the leaden sky 

That arched o'er our first great sorrow 
When that mound was heaped so high. 

I remembered the gradual patience 
That fell from that cloud like snow, 

Flake by flake, healing and hiding 
The scar of our deep-plunged woe. 

And again to the child I whispered, 

"The snow that husheth all, 
Darling, the merciful Father 

Alone can make it fall ! " 

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her ; 

And she, kissing back, could not know 
That my kiss was given to her sister 

Folded close under deepening snow. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



From The Vision of Sir Launfal. 
Prelude to Part First. 

Over his keys the musing organist, 

Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
First lets his fingers wander as they list, 

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay 
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 

Not only around our infancy 
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie; 
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, 
We Sinais climb, and know it not. 

Over our manhood bend the skies ; 

Against our fallen and traitor lives 
The great winds utter prophecies ; 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives; 
Its arms outstretched, the Druid wood 

Waits with its benedicite ; 
And to our age's drowsy blood 

Still shouts the inspiring sea. 

Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 

We bargain for the graves we lie in ; 
At the devil's booth are all things sold, 
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 
For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 

Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking ; 
'Tis heaven alone that is given away; 

'Tis only God may be had for the asking. 
No price is set on the lavish summer, 
June may be had by the poorest comer. 

And what is so rare as a day in J une ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays : 



358 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys: 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
And lets his illlumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest — 
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? 

Now is the high-tide of the year, 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer, 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 
We are happy now because God wills it; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
That skies are clear and grass is growing; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear, 
That dandelions are blossoming near, 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 
That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by: 
And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
For other couriers we should not lack ; 

We could guess it all by yon heifers lowing — 
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 359 



Warmed with the new wine of the year, 
Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how: 
Everything is happy now, 

Everything is upward striving; 
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue — 

'T is the natural way of living : 
Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; 
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache: 
The soul partakes the season's youth, 

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
What wonder if Sir Launfal now 
Remembered the keeping of his vow?* 

*This vow was that he would go in search of the Holy Grail, a "quest" held 
sacred by the Knights of the Round Table ;* for the Holy Grail, or Sancgreall, was 
thought to be the cup out of which Jesus pariook at the last supper, and no one 
could find it, and keep it, unless pure in thought and action. Galahad, the spotless 
knight in Arthur's Court, obtained it. 

In the Vision of Sir Launfal, Lowell has made no attempt to reproduce a Knight of 
the Round Table, and the period of time is also later. Want of space forbids the 
story of Sir Launfal in the words of the author. With exquisite grace he tells how 

Slumber fell like a cloud on him, 

As into his soul the vision flew, 
and then with finest art produces two lines suggestive of drowsiness, as though to 
lull into deeper slumber, while 

The little birds sang as if it were 

The one day of summer in all the year. 

And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees; 

The castle, alone in the landscape lay 

Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray. 
Filled with young enthusiasm, 

Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail, 

To seek in all climes, for the Holy Grail, 
but as he passed " through the darksome gate," 

He was 'ware of a leper crouched by the same, 

Who begged with his hand, and moaned as he sate, 

And a loathing over Sir Launfal came. 

The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill. 
So, scornfully tossing a piece of gold to the leper, the knight passes on in his quest. 
Summer changes to winter and year follows year, and yet Sir Launfal is unsuccessful 

*See p. 39. 



360 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Prelude to Part Second of the Vision of Sir Launfal. 

Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, 
From the snow five thousand summers old; 

On open wold and hill-top bleak 
It had gathered all the cold, 

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderers cheek. 

It carried a shiver everywhere 

From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare. 

The little brook heard it and built a roof 

'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof ; 

All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 

He groined his arches and matched his beams : 

Slender and clear were his crystal spars 

As the lashes of light that trim the stars ; 

He sculptured every summer delight 

In his halls and chambers out of sight. 

Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 

Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt, 

Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 

Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 

Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 

But silvery mosses that downward grew ; 



in finding the object of his search. Wearied out with journeying, he returns old, 
wayworn, and poor to his own castle, but " another heir in his earldom sate." He 
" turned from his own hard gate " away, and as he turned he heard again the plead- 
ing tones, and saw the leper, " lone" 

And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas, 

In the desolate horror of his disease. 

* * * * £ * 

And a voice that was calmer than silence said, 
"Lo, it is I; be not afraid! 

In many climes, without avail, 

Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail: 

Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou 

Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now. 

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, 

In whatso we share with another's need." 

Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound; 
" The Grail in my castle here is found! 
Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 
Let it be the spiders banquet-hall : 
He must be fenced with stronger mail, 
Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSOX. 



Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 

With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf ; 

Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 

For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and 

He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 

And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 

That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 

And made a star of every one. 

Xo mortal builder's most rare device 

Could match this winter-palace of ice ; 

'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay 

In his depths serene through the summer day, 

Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, 

Lest the happy model should be lost, 
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 

By the elfin builders of the frost. 

Within the hall are song and laughter, 

The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly, 
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 

With the lightsome green of ivy and holly ; 
Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 
Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide ; 
The broad flame-pennons droop and flap 

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind ; 
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, 

Hunted to death in its galleries blind : 
And swift little troops of silent sparks, 

Xow pausing, now scattering away as in fear, 
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 

Like herds of startled deer. 

But the wind without was eager and sharp, 
Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, 
And rattles and wrings 
The icy strings, 
Singing, in dreary monotone, 
A Christmas carol of its own, 
Whose burden still, as he might guess. 
Was — " Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless ! " 

The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 

As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 

31 



362 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN- LITERATURE. 



And he sat in the gateway and saw all night 
The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold, 
Through the window-slits of the castle old, 

Build out its piers of ruddy light 
Against the drift of the cold. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

The Boys. 

Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? 
If there has, take him out, without making a noise. 
Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite ! 
Old Time is a liar! We're twenty to-night! 

We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more? 
He's tipsy, — young jackanapes ! — show him the door! 
" Gray temples at twenty ? " — Yes ! white, if we please ; 
Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there 's nothing can freeze ! 

Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake! 
Look close, — you will see not a sign of a flake ! 
We want some new garlands for those we have shed — 
And these are white roses in place of the red. 

We 've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told, 
Of talking (in public) as if we were old : — 
That boy we call " Doctor," and this we call " Judge ; " 
It 's a neat little fiction, — of course, it 's all fudge. 

That fellow's the "Speaker," — the one on the right; 
" Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night ? 
That 's our " Member of Congress," we say when we chaflT ; 
There's the " Beverend" What's his name ? — don't make me laugh. 

That boy with the grave, mathematical look 

Made belief he had written a wonderful book. 

And the Koyal Society thought it was true! 

So they chose him right in, — a good joke it was too ! 

There 's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain, 
That could harness a team with a logical chain; 
When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, 
We called him "The Justice," but now he's "The Squire." 

And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith — 
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith ; 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



363 



But he shouted a song for the brave and the free, — 
Just read on his medal, " My country," " of thee ! " 

You hear that boy laughing? — You think he's all fun; 
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done ; 
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, 
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all ! 

Yes, we 're boys, — always playing with tongue or with pen ; 
And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men? 
Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay, 
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away? 

Then here 's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray ! 
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May ! 
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, 
Dear Father, take care of thy children, The Boys ! 

BAYARD TAYLOR. 

Autumnal Dreams. 

When the maple turns to crimson 

And the sassafras to gold; 
When the gentian's in the meadow 

And the aster in the wold; 
When the moon is lapped in vapor 

And the night is frosty cold; 

When the chestnut-burs are opened, 

And the acorns drop like hail, 
And the drowsy air is startled 

With the thumping of the flail, — 
With the drumming of the partridge 

And the whistle of the quail; 

Through the rustling woods I wander 

Through the jewels of the year, 
From the yellow uplands calling, 

Seeking her that still is dear ; 
She is near me in the autumn, 

She the beautiful is near. 

Through the smoke of burning summer, 
When the weary winds are still, 



364 



HISTORY OF AM ERIC AX LITERATURE. 



I can see her in the valley, 
I can hear her on the hill — 

In the splendor of the woodlands, 
In the whisper of the rill. 

For the shores of Earth and Heaven 
Meet and mingle in the blue : 

She can wander down the glory 
To the places that she knew, 

Where the happy lovers wandered 
In the days when life was true. 

So I think when days are sweetest, 
And the world is wholly fair, 

She may sometime steal upon me 
Through the dimness of the air, 

With the cross upon her bosom 
And the amaranth in her hair. 

Once to meet her, ah ! to meet her 
And to hold her gently fast 

Till I blessed her, till she blessed me — 
That were happiness at last ; 

That were bliss beyond our meetings 
In the autumns of the Past. 

In Winter. 
The valley stream is frozen, 

The hills are cold and bare, 
And the wild white bees of winter 

Swarm in the darkened air. 

I look on the naked forest : 
Was it ever green in June ? 

Did it burn with gold and crimson 
In the dim autumnal noon? 

I look on the barren meadow : 
Was it ever heaped with hay? 

Did it hide the grassy cottage 

Where the skylark's children lay ? 

I look on the desolate garden : 
Is it true the rose was there? 

And the woodbine's musky blossoms, 
And the hyacinth's purple hair? 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



I look in my heart, and marvel 

If Love were ever its own, — 
If the spring of promise brightened, 

And the summer of passion shone. 

Is the stem of bliss but withered, 
And the root survives the blast? 

Are the seeds of the Future sleeping 
Under the leaves of the Past? 

The Return of Spring. 

Have I passed through Death's unconscious birth, 

In a dream the midnight bare? 
I look on another and fairer Earth : 

I breathe a wondrous air! 

A spirit of beauty walks the hills, 

A spirit of love the plain; 
The shadows are bright, and the sunshine fills 

The air with a diamond rain! 

Before my vision the glories swim, 

To the dance of a tune unheard; 
Is an angel singing where woods are dim, 

Or is it an amorous bird? 

Is it a spike of azure flowers, 

Deep in the meadows seen, 
Or is it the peacock's neck, that towers 

Out of the spangled green? 

Is a white dove glancing across the blue, 

Or an opal taking wing? 
For my soul is dazzled through and through, 

With the splendor of the spring. 

Is it she that shines as never before, 

The tremulous hills above, — 
Or the heart within me, awake once more 

To the dawning light of love? 

T. B. READ. 

The Closing Scene. 



Within this sober realm of leafless trees, 
The russet year inhaled the dreamy air, 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 

Like some tann'd reaper in his hour of ease, 
When all the fields are lying brown and bare. 

The gray barns looking from their hazy hills 
O'er the dim waters widening in the vales, 

Sent down the air a greeting to the mills, 
On the dull thunder of alternate flails. 

All sights were mellow'd, and all sounds subdued, 
The hills seem'd farther, and the streams sang low ; 

As in a dream, the distant woodman hew'd 
His winter log with many a muffled blow. 

The embattled forests, erewhile arm'd in gold, 
Their banners bright with every martial hue, 

Now stood, like some sad beaten host of old, 
Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue. 

On slumberous wings the vulture tried his flight; 

The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's complaint; 
And, like a star slow drowning in the light, 

The village church-vane seem'd to pale and faint. 

The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew, — 
Crew thrice, and all was stiller than before, — 

Silent till some replying wanderer blew 

His alien horn, and then was heard no more. 

Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest 

Made garrulous trouble round the unfledged young; 

And where the oriole hung her swaying nest 
By every light wind like a censer swung ; 

Where sang the noisy masons of the eves, 

The busy swallows circling ever near, 
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes, 

An early harvest and a plenteous year; 

Where every bird which charm'd the vernal feast 
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn, 

To warn the reapers of the rosy east, 
All now was songless, empty, and forlorn. 

Alone from out the stubble piped the quail, 
And croak'd the crow through all the dreary gloom; 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 367 



Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale, 
Made echo to the distant cottage-loom. 

There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers ; 

The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by night; 
The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers, 

Sail'd slowly by — pass'd noiseless out of sight. 

Amid all this, — in this most cheerless air, 

And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch 

Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there, 
Firing the floor with his inverted torch, 

Amid all this, the centre of the scene, 

The white-hair'd matron, with monotonous tread, 
Plied her swift wheel, and with her joyless mien 

Sat like a Fate, and watch'd the flying thread. 
#■ ■* * * * * 

Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on, 

Like the low murmurs of a hive at noon; 
Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone 

Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune. 

At last the thread was snapp'd, her head was bow'd ; 

Life dropped the distaff through his hands serene, 
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud, 

While Death and Winter closed the autumn scene. 

GEORGE H. BOKER. 

From The Iyory Carter. 

Silently sat the artist alone 

Carving a Christ from the ivory bone. 

Little by little, with toil and pain, 

He won his way through the sightless grain, 

That held and yet hid the thing he sought, 

Till the work stood up a growing thought, 

And all around him, unseen yet felt, 

A mystic presence forever dwelt, 

A formless spirit of subtle flame, 

The light of whose being went and came, 

As the artist paused from work, or bent 

His whole heart to it with firm intent. 



HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 

It Never Comes Again. 

There are gains for all our losses, 

There are balms for all our pain, 
But when youth, the dream, departs, 
It takes something from our hearts, 
And it never comes again. 

"We are stronger, and are better, 

Under manhood's sterner reign; 
Still we feel that something sweet 
Followed youth, with flying feet, 
And will never come again. 

Something beautiful is vanished, 

And we sigh for it in vain ; 
We behold it everywhere, 
On the earth and in the air, 
But it never comes again. 

JOHN Q. SAXE. 

From The Proud Miss MacBride. 

Of all the notable things on earth, 
The queerest one is pride of birth 

Among our " fierce democracie!" 
A bridge across a hundred years, 
Without a prop to save it from sneers, 
Not even a couple of rotten peers, 
A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers, 

Is American aristocracy ! 

English and Irish, French and Spanish, 
German, Italian, Dutch, and Danish, 
Crossing their veins until they vanish 

In one conglomeration! 
So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed, 
No Heraldry Harvey will ever succeed 

In finding the circulation. 

Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, 
Your family thread you can't ascend, 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 369 



Without good reason to apprehend 

You may find it waxed at the farther end 

By some plebeian vocation ! 
Or, worse than that, your boasted line 
May end in a loop of stronger twine, 

That plagued some worthy relation. 

HAWTHORNE. 

From The Marble Faun. 

The Italian climate robs age of its reverence, and makes it look 
newer than it is. Not the Coliseum, nor the tombs of the Appian 
Way, nor the oldest pillar in the Forum, nor any other Roman ruin, 
be it as dilapidated as it may, ever give the impression of venerable 
antiquity which we gather, along with the ivy, from the gray walls of 
an English abbey or castle. And yet every brick or stone which we 
pick up among the former, had fallen ages before the foundation of the 
latter was begun. This is owing to the kindliness with which Nature 
takes an English ruin to her heart, covering it with ivy as tenderly as 
Robin Redbreast covered the dead babes with forest leaves. She strives 
to make it a part of herself, gradually obliterating the handiwork of 
man, and supplanting it with her own mosses and trailing verdure, till 
she has won the whole structure back. But in Italy, whenever man 
has once hewn a stone, Nature forthwith relinquishes her right to it, 
and never lays her finger on it again. Age after age finds it bare and 
naked in the barren sunshine, and leaves it so. Besides this natural 
disadvantage, too, each succeeding century, in Rome, has done its best 
to ruin the very ruins, so far as their picturesque effect is concerned, by 
stealing away the marble and hewn stone, and leaving only yellow 
bricks, which never can look venerable. 

A picture, however admirable the painter's art and wonderful his 
power, requires of the spectator a surrender of himself in due propor- 
tion Avith the miracle which has been wrought. Let the canvas glow 
as it may, you must look with the eye of faith, or its highest excellence 
escapes you. There is always the necessity of helping out the painter's 
art with your own resources of sensibility and imagination. Not that 
these qualities shall really add anything to what the master has effected, 
but they must be put so entirely under his control, and work along with 
him to such an extent, that, in a different mood, when you are cold and 
critical instead of sympathetic, you will be apt to fancy that the loftier 
merits of the picture were of vour own dreaming, not of his creating. 

Y 



370 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



ijf * * * * # * * * 

One afternoon, as Hilda entered Saint Peter's, its interior beamed 
upon her with all the effect of a new creation. All splendor was in- 
cluded within its verge, and there was space for all. She could spare 
nothing now. She would not have banished one of those grim popes, 
who sit each over his own tomb, scattering cold benedictions out of 
marble hands; nor a single frozen sister of the Allegoric family, to 
whom — as, like hired mourners at an English funeral, it costs them no 
wear and tear of heart — is assigned the office of weeping for the dead. 

From The Old Manse. 

If ever my reader should decide to give up civilized life, — cities 
and houses, — let it be in the early autumn. Then Nature will love him 
better than at any other season, and will take him to her bosom with a 
more motherly tenderness. I could scarcely endure the roof of the 
old house above me in those first autumnal days. How early in the sum- 
mer, too, the prophecy of autumn comes ! Earlier in some years than 
in others. Sometimes even in the first weeks of July. There is no 
other feeling like what is caused by this faint, doubtful, yet real percep- 
tion — if it be not rather a foreboding — of the years' decay, so blessedly 
sweet and sad in the same breath. 

I have forgotten whether the song of the cricket be not as early a 
token of autumn's approach as any other — that song which may be 
called an audible stillness ; for though very loud and heard afar, yet 
the mind does not take note of it as a sound, so completely is its indi- 
vidual existence merged among the accompanying characteristics of the 
season. Alas for the pleasant summer time ! In August the grass is 
still verdant on the hills and the valleys ; the foliage of the trees is 
as dense as ever and as green ; the flowers gleam forth in richer abun- 
dance along the margin of the river and by the stone walls and deep 
among the woods ; the days, too, are as fervid now as they were a month 
ago ; and yet, in every breath of wind and in every beam of sunshine, 
we hear the whispered farewell and behold the parting smile of a dear 
friend. There is a coolness amid all the heat, a mildness in the blazing 
noon. Not a breeze can stir, but it thrills us with the breath of autumn. 
A pensive glory is seen in the far, golden gleams, among the shadows of 
the trees. The flowers — even the brightest of them, and they are the 
most gorgeous of the year — have this gentle sadness wedded to their 
pomp. The brilliant cardinal flower has never seemed gay to me. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



371 



MRS. STOWB. 

From Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

Eva, who had stood a silent spectator of the scene thus far, made a 
sign to Topsy to follow her. There was a little glass room at the corner 
of the veranda, which St. Clare used as a sort of reading-room, and 
Eva and Topsy disappeared into this place. 

" What 's Eva going about now ? " said St. Clare ; " I mean to see." 

And, advancing on tiptoe, he lifted up a curtain that covered the 
glass-door, and looked in. In a moment, laying his finger on his lips, 
he made a silent gesture to Miss Ophelia to come and look. There sat 
the two children on the floor with their side faces towards them, Topsy, 
with her usual air of careless drollery and unconcern ; but, opposite to 
her, Eva, her whole face fervent with feeling, and tears in her large 
eyes. 

" What does make you so bad, Topsy ? Why won't you try and be 
good ? Don't you love anybody, Topsy ? " 

" Donno nothin' 'bout love ; I loves candy and sich, that 's all," said 
Topsy. 

" But you love your father and mother ? " 

" Never had none, ye know. I telled you that, Miss Eva." 

" Oh, I know," said Eva, sadly ; " but had you any brother or sister, 
or aunt, or — " 

" No, none on 'em — never had nothin' nor nobody." 

" But, Topsy, if you'd only try and be good, you might " 

" Could n't never be nothin' but a nigger, if I war ever so good," said 
Topsy. " If I could be skinned, and come white, I 'd try then." 

" But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss Ophelia 
would love you, if you were good." 

Topsy gave the short, blunt laugh that was her common mode of ex- 
pressing incredulity. 

" Don't you think so ? " said Eva. 

" No ; she can't bar me, 'cause I'ma nigger — she 'd's soon have a toad 
touch her ! There can't nobody love niggers, and niggers can't do 
nothin' ! /don't care," said Topsy, beginning to whistle. 

"Oh, Topsy, poor child, 7 love you !" said Eva, with a sudden burst 
of feeling, and laying her little thin, white hand on Topsy's shoulder. 
" I love you because you haven't had any father, or mother, or friends ; 



372 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



because you've been a poor, abused child ! I love you, and I want you 
to be good. I am very unwell, Topsy, and I think I sha'n't live a great 
while ; and it really grieves me to have you be so naughty. I wish you 
would try to be good for my sake — it 's only a little while I shall be with 
you." 

The round keen eyes of the black child were overcast with tears — 
large, bright drops rolled heavily down, one by one, and fell on the 
little white hand. Yes, in that moment a ray of real belief, a ray of 
heavenly love, had penetrated the darkness of her heathen soul ! She 
laid her head down between her knees, and wept and sobbed — while the 
beautiful child, bending over her, looked like the picture of some 
bright angel stooping to reclaim a sinner. 

" Poor Topsy ! " said Eva, " don't you know that Jesus loves all alike ? 
He is just as willing to love you as me. He loves you just as I do — 
only more, because he is better. He will help you to be good ; and you 
can go to heaven at last, and be an angel forever, just as much as if 
you were white. Only think of it, Topsy ! you can be one of those 
spirits bright Uncle Tom sings about." 

" O, dear Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva ! " said the child ; " I will try ; I 
never did care nothin' about it before." 

St. Clare, at this instant, dropped the curtain. "It puts me in mind 
of mother," he said to Miss Ophelia. "It is true what she told me ; if 
. - we want to give sight to the blind, we must be willing to do as Christ 
did — call them to us, and put our hands on them." 

"I've always had a prejudice against negroes," said Miss Ophelia, 
" and it 's a fact, I never could bear to have that child touch me ; but I 
did n't think she knew it." 

" Trust any child to find that out," said St. Clare ; " there 's no keep- 
ing it from them. But I believe that all the trying in the world to 
benefit a child, and all the substantial favors you can do them, will 
never excite one emotion of gratitude while that feeling of repugnance 
remains in the heart ; it 's a queer kind of a fact, but so it is." 

" I don't know how I can help it," said Miss Ophelia ; " they are dis- 
agreeable to me — this child in particular. How can I help feeling so ? " 

" Eva does, it seems." 

"Well, she's so loving! After all, though, she's no more than 
Christ-like," said Miss Ophelia ; " I wish I were like her. She might 
teach me a lesson." 

" It would n't be the first time a little child has been used to instruct 
an old disciple, if it were so," said St. Clare. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 



373 



EMERSON. 

Each and All. 

Little thinks, in the field, von red-cloaked clown, 

Of thee from the hill-top looking down; 

The heifer that lows in the upland farm, 

Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 

The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, 

Deems not that great Napoleon 

Stops his horse, and lists with delight, 

Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height ; 

Nor knowest thou what argument 

Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 

All are needed by each one ; 

Nothing is fair or good alone. 

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 

Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; 

I brought him home, in his nest, at even ; 

He sings the song, but it pleases not now, 

For I did not bring home the river and sky ; — 

He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. 

The delicate shells lay on the shore; 

The bubbles of the latest wave 

Fresh pearls to their enamel gave ; 

And the bellowing of the savage sea 

Greeted their safe escape to me. 

I wiped away the weeds and foam, 

I fetched my sea-born treasures home; 

But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 

Had left their beauty on the shore, 

With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar. 

The lover watched his graceful maid, 

As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, 

Nor knew her beauty's best attire 

Was woven still by the snow-white choir. 

At last she came to his hermitage, 

Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage ; — 

The gay enchantment was undone, 

A gentle wife, but fairy none. 

32 



374 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



Then I said, " I covet truth ; 

Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat ; 

I leave it behind with the games of youth." — 

As I spoke, beneath my feet 

The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, 

Running over the club-moss burrs ; 

I inhaled the violet's breath ; 

Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 

Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground ; 

Over me soared the eternal sky, 

Full of light and of deity : 

Again I saw, again I heard, 

The rolling river, the morning bird ; — 

Beauty through my senses stole; 

I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 

From Uses of Great Men. 

I count him a great man who inhabits a higher sphere of thought, 
into which other men rise with labor and difficulty. He has but to 
open his eyes to see things in a true light and in large relations ; whilst 
they must make painful corrections, and keep a vigilant eye on many 
sources of error. His service to us is of like sort. It costs a beautiful 
person no exertion to paint her image on our eyes ; yet how splendid 
is that benefit I It costs no more for a wise soul to convey his quality 
to other men. And every one can do his best thing easiest. 

From Shakespeare, The Poet. 

If it need wit to know wit, according to the proverb, Shakespeare's 
time should be capable of recognizing it. . . . Since the constellation 
of great men who appeared in Greece in the time of Pericles, there 
was never any such society ; yet their genius failed them to find out the 
best head in the universe. Our poet's mask was impenetrable. You 
cannot see the mountain near. It took a century to make it suspected ; 
and not until two centuries had passed after his death, did any criticism 
that we think adequate begin to appear. 



This power of expression, or of transferring the inmost truth of 
things into music and verse, makes him the type of the poet, and has 
added a new problem to metaphysics. 

The finest poetry was first experience : but the thought has suffered a 
transformation since it was an experience. 



LITERATURE OF THE AGE OF EMERSON. 375 



From Behavior. 

Life expresses. . . . Nature tells every secret once. In man she 
tells it all the time. The visible carriage or action of the individual, 
as resulting from his organization and his will combined, we call man- 
ners. What are they but thought entering the hands and feet, con- 
trolling the movements of the body, the speech, and behavior ? 

There is always a best way of doing every thing, if it be to boil an egg. 
Manners are the happy ways of doing things ; each once a stroke of 
genius or of love, — now repeated and hardened into usage. They form 
at last a rich varnish, with which the routine of life is washed, and its 
details adorned. If they are superficial, so are the dew-drops which 
give such a depth to the morning meadows. 

** * ****** 

Manners must be inspired by the good heart. There is no beautifier 
of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy and not 
pain around us. 'Tis good to give a stranger a meal or a night's lodg- 
ing : 't is better to be hospitable to his good meaning and thought, and 
give courage to a companion. We must be as courteous to a man as we 
are to a picture which we are willing to give the advantage of a good 
light. Special precepts are not to be thought of ; the talent of well- 
doing contains them all. Every hour will show a duty as paramount 
as that of my whim just now ; and yet I will write it, that there is one 
topic peremptorily forbidden to all well-bred, to all rational mortals, 
namely, their distempers. If you have not slept, or if you have slept, 
or if you have headache, or sciatica, or leprosy, or thunder-stroke, I 
beseech you by all angels to hold your peace, and not pollute the morn- 
ing, to which all the housemates bring serene and pleasant thoughts, by 
corruption and groans. Love the day ; do not leave the sky out of your 
landscape. 

From Mature (Beauty). 

All men are in some degree impressed by the face of the world ; some 
men even to delight. This love of beauty is taste. Others have the 
same love in such excess, that, not content with admiring, they seek to 
embody it in new forms. The creation of beauty is art. 

The world thus exists to the soul to satisfy the desire of beauty. This 
element I call an ultimate end. No reason can be asked or given why 
the soul seeks beauty. Beauty, in its largest and profoundest sense, is 
one expression for the universe. God is the All-fair. Truth and good- 
ness and beauty are but different faces of the same All. 



376 HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



From Self-Keliance. 

Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept 
the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your 
contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done 
so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age. 
* * # * .* 

Whoso would be a man must be a Nonconformist. He who would 
gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, 
but must explore if it be goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the 
integrity of your own mind. 

What I must do is all that concerns me, not what people think. . . . 
It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion ; it is easy in 
solitude to live after our own ; but the great man is he who in the 
midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of 
solitude. 

Syllabus. 

The great poets-of America are Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant, Lowell, 
Holmes, Bayard Taylor, etc. 
Longfellow might be termed the people's poet. 

Bryant, one of the earliest of American poets, was the poet of Nature. 

Whittier is eminently the poet of Humanity. 

James Bussell Lowell is wit, poet, and critic combined. 

O. W. Holmes is noted as a humorist. 

The poetry of Saxe is characterized by keen wit. 

Bayard Taylor was poet, traveller, and novelist ; but eminently a poet. 

Thomas Buchanan Bead's poetry gave great promise of excellence. 

George H. Boker is more distinguished for his dramatical poems. 

Of the prose writers of America, Hawthorne stands preeminent. He is 
the acknowledged head of American novelists. 

No novel was ever so popular as Mrs. Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

The age is remarkable for its production of excellent short stories, 
sketches, etc. 

The humorous writings are distinctively American. 

The great American historians are Bancroft, Prescott, and Motley. 

Periodical literature has been well represented in this country, and the 
excellent writers of both prose and poetry are too numerous to mention. 

Balph Waldo Emerson was one who inhabited " a higher sphere of 
thought, into which other men rise with labor and difficulty." 



Adams, John, 288. 
Addison, Joseph, 121, 134. 
Aldrich, T. B., 326. 
Alfred, 18. 
Ames, Fisher, 28-5. 

Bacon, Francis, 54, 75. 

Roger, 22. 

Bancroft, George, 328. 
Baxter, Richard, 88. 
Beaumont, Francis, 47. 
Bede, 18. 

Bentliam, Jeremy. 206. 
Boker, George H., 326, 367. 
Bradstreet, Anne. 281, 282. 
Bronte, Charlotte, 226. 
Browning, Elizabeth B., 247, 260. 

Robert, 247, 264. 

Bryant, William Cullen, 320, 336. 
Buckle, Henry Thomas, 253. 
Bunyan, John, 88, 97. 
Burke, Edmund, 164, 178. 
Burns, Robert, 181, 188. 
Butler, Samuel, 88, 94. 
Byron, George Gordon, 200, 210. 

Caedmon, 16, 19. 
Campbell, Thomas, 225. 
Carlyle, Thomas, 227, 242. 
Caxton, William, 35. 
Channing, William E., 299, 309. 
Chapman, George, 47. 
Chatterton, Thomas, 153. 
Chaucer, Geoffrey, 25, 29. 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 222, 235. 
Collins, William, 144, 170. 
Cooper, James Fennimore, 298. 
Coverdale, Miles, 35. 
Cowper, William, 184, 191. 
Cunningham, Allan, 204. 
32* 



Darwin, Charles, 251. 
De Foe, Daniel, 124, 138. 
De Quincey, Thomas, 230. 
Dickens, Charles, 248, 269. 
Drake, Joseph Rodman, 295, 302. 
Dryden, John, 102, 106. 

Edwards, Jonathan, 281, 283. 
"Eliot, George," 250, 275. 
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 329, 373. 
Evelyn, John, 106, 111. 

Fielding, Henry, 155, 176. 
Fletcher, John, 47. 
Fox, Charles James, 165. 
Francis, Sir Philip. See Jrvrcs. 
Franklin, Benjamin, 286, 289. 
Froude, James Anthony, 253. 

Garrick, David, 155. 
Gay, John, 118, 133. 
Gibbon, Edward, 158. 
Gifford, William, 206. 
Goldsmith, Oliver, 146, 166. 
Gray, Thomas, 143, 171. 
Greene, Robert, 47. 
Grote, George, 253. 

Hallam, Henry, 229. 
Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 296, 304. 
Hamilton, Alexander, 287. 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 326, 369. 
Hazlitt, William, 230. 
Henry, Patrick, 285. 
Herrick, Robert, 44. 
Heywood, John, 45. 
Hogg, James, 204. 216. 
Holmes, O. W., 323, 362. 
Hood, Thomas, 225, 240. 
Hooker, Richard, 59, 77. 

377 



378 



INDEX. 



Hopkinson, Francis.. 288, 292. 
Howard, Henry (Earl of Surrey), 34. 
Hume, David, 157, 158. 
Hunt, Leigh, 230, 241. 
Huxley, T. H., 251, 278. 

Irving, Washington, 299, 310. 

James I., of Scotland, 34. 
Jay, John, 287. 
Jefferson, Thomas, 288, 292. 
Jeffrey, Francis, 206. 
Johnson, Samuel, 158, 177. 
Jonson, Ben, 53, 74. 
Junius, 165, 177. 

Keats, John, 203, 214. 
Knox, John, 59. 

Lamb, Charles, 230. 243. 
Langlande,Wru. See Piers Plowman. 
Layamon, 22, 23. 
Locke, John, 106, 110. 
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 318, 
330. 

Lowell, James Russell, 323, 351. 
Lyly, John, 47, 48, 77. 

Macaulay, T. B., 228, 243. 
Macpherson, James, 152. 
Madison, James, 288. 
Malory, Thomas, 35, 39. 
Mandeville, Sir John, 28, -31. 
Marlowe, Christopher, 47. 
Massinger, Philip, 47. 
Mather, Cotton, 280. 
Mill, John Stuart, 252 
Milton, John, 80, 89. 
Moore, Thomas, 204 
More, Sir Thomas, 34. 38. 
Morris, George P., 297. 
Motley, John Lothrop, 328. 

Xewton, Sir Isaac, 106. 

Orm, 22. 

Otis, James, 285. 

Owen, Richard, 251. 

Payne, John Howard, 295, 298. 

Pepys, Samuel, 100, 106, 111. 

Percy, Dr. Thomas, 154. 

" Piers Plowman,'' 28. 

Pitt, William (Lord Chatham), 165, 179. 

Poe, Edgar A., 297, 305. 

Pope, Alexander, 116, 125. 



Pr escort, William Hickling, 301, 316, 

328. 

Priestley, Joseph, 157. 

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 58, 64. 
Ramsay, Allan, 118. 
Read, T. B., 325, 365. 
Richardson, Samuel, 155. 
Robertson, William, 158. 
Ruskin, John, 253. 

Sackville, Thomas, 47. 
Saxe, John Godfrey, 324, 368. 
Scott, Sir Walter, 198, 207. 
Shakespeare, William, 49, 64. 
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 203, 212. 
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 155, 165. 
Sidney, Sir Philip, 58, 76. 
Smith, Adam, 157. 

Sidney, 205. 

Smollett, Tobias George, 156. 
Somerville, Mary, 251. 
j Southey, Robert, 224, 239. 
Spencer, Herbert, 252. 
Spenser, Edmund, 43, 60. 
Stedman, E. C, 326. 
Steele, Richard, 123. 
Sterne, Laurence, 155. 
Stoddard, R. H., 326. 
Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 326, 371. 
Swift, Jonathan, 119, 137. 

Tannahill, Robert. 204, 218. 
Taylor, Bayard, 324, 363. 

Jeremy, 88, 95. 

Tennyson, Alfred, 246, 253. 
Thackeray, Wm. Makepeace, 250, 274 
Thomson, James, 150, 169. 
Trowbridge, J. T.. 326. 
Trumbull, John, 288, 293. 
Tyndale, William, 35, 39. 
Tyndall, John, 251, 278. 

Udall, Nicholas, 46. 

Walton, Izaak, 89. 
Wesley, Charles, 156. 

John, 156. 

Whitefield, George, 156. 
Whittier, J. G., 322, 342. 
Willis, N. P., 297. 
Wordsworth, William, 221, 230. 
Wyatt, Sir Thomas, 34. 
Wycliffe, John. 28, 31. 

| Young, Edward, 151, 167. 




Model Text-Books 




COMPRISING 

A First Latin Booh, 

A Latin Grammar, 

A Latin Reader, 

Ccesar's Commentaries, 

First Six Books of JEneid, 
Virgil's Mneid, 

Virgil's Eclogues and Oeorgics, 
Cicero's Select Orations, 
Horace's Odes, Satires, and Epistles, 
Sallust's Catiline et Jugurtha, 

Cicero De Senectute, et De Amicitia, 
Cornelius Nepos, 

Cicero De Officiis, 
Cicero's Tusculan Disputations, 

Cicero de Oratore, Juvenal, y 




CHASE & STUARTS CLASSICAL SERIES. 




Terence, 
Ovid. 



Tacitus, 
Livy. 




A 

SERIES OF TEXT-BOOKS 

ON THE 

ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 

By JOHN S. HABT, LL.D., 

Late Professor of Rfietoric and of the English Language in (he 
College of New Jersey. 

The Series comprises the following volumes, viz.: 

Language Lessons for Beginners, 
Elementary English Grammar, 
English Grammar and Analysis, 
First Lessons in Composition, 
Composition and Rhetoric, 
A Short Course in Literature, 
A Class-Booh of Poetry, 
A Manual of American Literature, 
A Manual of English Literature. 

THE 

MODEL SERIES OF ARITHMETICS 

By EDGAR A. SINGEB, A.M., 

Principal of the Henry W. Hattiwell Grammar School, Philadelphia. 

COMPRISING 

The Model Primary Arithmetic, 

The Model Elementary Arithmetic, 

The Model Mental Arithmetic, 

Tlie Model Practical Arithmetic, 

The Model Test Arithmetic. In Preparation. 



Easy Lessons in Natural Philosophy. 

For Children. By Prof. Edwin J. Houston, A.M. 

Intermediate Lessons in Natural Philosophy. 

By Prof. Edwin J. Houston, A.M. 

Elements of Natural Philosophy. 

For Schools and Academies. By Edwin J. Houston, A.M. 

Elements of Chemistry. 

For Academies and Colleges. By Prof. E. J. Houston, A.M. 

Elements of Physical Geography. 

By Edwin J. Houston, A.M., Prof, of Physics and Physical 
Geography in the Central High School of Philadelphia. 

Christian Ethics ; or, The Science of the life of 
Human Duty. 

A New Text-Book on Moral Science. By Kev. D. S. Gregory, 
D.D., President of Lake Forest University, Illinois, 

Practical Logic ; or, The Art of Thinking-. 

By Rev. D. S. Gregory, D.D. 

Groesbeck's Practical Book-Keeping Series. 

By Prof. John Groesbeck, Prin. of the Crittenden Commer- 
cial College. In Two Volumes, viz. : 

College Edition, for Commercial Schools, Colleges, &e. 

School Edition, for Schools and Academies. 

"We have prepared a series of Blank Books for writing out the exer- 
cises in both Editions of Groesbeck's Book-keeping, or for those that 
prefer it, we can furnish foolscap paper, of the best quality, ruled for 
the following books, viz. : Day-Book, Ledger, Cash-Book, Bill-Book, 
Journal, Three Column Day-Book, etc. Sample sheet of each will be 
gent by mail on receipt of fifteen cents. 

An Elementary Algebra* 

A Text-Book for Schools and Academies. By Joseph W. 
Wilson, A.M., Professor of Mathematics in the Philadelphia 
Central High School. 

The Crittenden Commercial Arithmetic and 
Business Manual. New Edition, Dec, 1882. 
Designed for the use of Teachers, Business Men, Academies, 
High Schools, and Commercial Colleges. By Prof. John 
Geoesbeck. 

A Manual of Elocution and Reading. 

Founded on Philosophy of the Human Voice. By Edwakd 
Brooks, Ph.D., Prin. of State Normal School, Millersville, Pa. 

3 



The Model Definer. 

A Book for Beginners, containing Definitions, Etymology, and 
Sentences as Models, exhibiting the correct use of Words. By 
A. C. Webb. 

The Model Etymology, 

Containing Definitions, Etymology, Latin Derivatives, Sen- 
tences as Models, and Analysis. With a Key containing the 
Analysis of every word which could present any difficulties to 
the learner. By A. C. Webb. 

A Manual of Etymology. 

Containing Definitions, Etymology, Latin Derivatives, Greek 
Derivatives, Sentences as Models, and Analysis. With a Key 
containing the Analysis of every word which could present any 
difficulties to the learner. By A. C. Webb. 

The Model Speaker. 

Consisting of Exercises in Prose and Poetry, Suitable for Reci- j 
tation, Declamation, Public Readings, etc. Compiled for the i 
use of Schools and Academies, by Prof. Philip Lawrence. 

First Lessons in Physiology and Hygiene. 

By Charles K. Mills, M.D. 

Anatomy, Physiology, and Hygiene. 

A Text-Book for Schools, Academies, Colleges, and Families. 
By Joseph C. Martindale, M.D. 

First Lessons in Natural Philosophy. 

For Beginners. By Joseph C. Martindale, M.D, 

A Hand-Book Of Literature, English and American, 

By E. J. Tkimble, Prof, of Literature, State Normal School, 
West Chester, Pa. 

A Short Course in Literature, English and American. 

By E. J. Tkimble. 

Short Studies in Literature, English and American. 

By A. P. Sotjthwick, A.M. 

The Constitution of the United States. 

For Schools, with Questions under each Clause. By Prof. John 
S. Hart, LL.D. Should be taught in every school. 

A Hand-Book of Mythology. 

By S. A. Edwards, Teacher of Mythology in the Girls' Normal 
School, Philadelphia. 

4 



A Hand-Book of Civil Government. 

By Thomas D. Stjplee, A. M., Head-Master of Harcourt Place 
School, Gambier, Ohio. 

3000 Practice Words. 

By Prof. J. Willis Westlake, A.M., State Normal School, 
Millersville, Pa. Contains lists of Familiar Words often Mis- 
spelled, Difficult Words, Homophonous Words, Words often 
Confounded, Rules for Spelling, etc. It is a book that every 
teacher wants. Handsomely bound in flexible cloth, crimson 
edges. 

In the School-Room ; 

Or, Chapters in the Philosophy of Education. Gives 
the experience of nearly forty years spent in school-room work. 
By John S. Hart, LL.D. 

The Model Pocket-Register and Grade-Book. 

A Roll-Book, Record, and Grade-Book combined. Adapted to 
all grades of Classes, whether in College, Academy, Seminary, 
High or Primary School. Handsomely bound in fine English 
cloth, bevelled sides, crimson edges. 

The Model School Diary. 

Designed as an aid in securing the co-operation of parents. It 
consists of a Record of the Attendance, Deportment, Recita- 
tions, etc., of the Scholar for every day. At the close of the 
week it is to be sent to the parent or guardian for his examina* 
tion and signature. 

The Model Monthly Report. 

Similar to the Model School Diary, excepting that it is intended 
for a Monthly instead of a Weekly report of the Attendance, 
Recitations, etc., of the pupil. 

The Model Roll-Book, No. 1. 

The Model Roll-Book, No. 2. 

The Model Roll-Book, No. 1, is so ruled as to show at a 
glance the record of a class for three months, allowing five 
weeks to each month, with spacing for weekly, monthly, and 
quarterly summary, and a blank space for remarks at the end 
of the quarter. 

The Model Roll-Book, No. 2, is arranged on the same 
general plan, as regards spacing, etc., excepting that each page 
is arranged for a month of five weeks; but, in addition, the j 
names of the studies generally pursued in schools are printed 
5 



immediately following the name of the pupil, making it more 
convenient when it is desirable to have a record of all the stud- 
ies pursued by a pupil brought together in one place. 

Specimen Sheets sent by Mail on application. 

Manuals for Teachers. 

A Series of Hand-Books comprising five volumes, which it is 
believed will prove a valuable contribution to the art and sci- 
ence of Teaching. Printed on the best quality of calendered 
paper and handsomely bound. 

1. On the Cultivation of the Senses. 

2. On the Cultivation of the Memory* 

5. On the Use of Words. 
4. On J>iscipline. 

6. On Class Teaching, 

The Teacher. 

A Monthly Journal devoted to the interests of Teachers, Schools, 
and the Cause of Education in general. Subscription price, 50 
cents per annum. Specimen copy sent free. 

We shall be gratified to have teachers correspond ivith us. We 
offer some of the best of Modem Text-Books, and shall be glad at 
any time to make liberal arrangements for the introduction of our 
books, or to exchange for others that do not give satisfaction. Send 
for our catalogue, and for descriptive circulars of any of our books 
of which you desire information. Please address 

Eldredge & Brother, 

17 North Seventh Street, 

PHILADELPHIA. 




6 



/ 




***** ^ *it j »? &° 

' '/ ^> V * * * / > vO k ^ v 



A' 



jsS\\\i\^afc * v >* -an 



,0o. 



Jo,! .' 



,C? c N c * 



'CI 




v- 9 
0o, 



V 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Jan. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 



